


Something Good

by itsnotminorine



Category: The Swedes (Umbrella Academy) - Fandom, The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Action & Romance, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, Kidnapping, Mutual Pining, Pining, Polyamory, Slow Burn, Toxic friendship, bastard friend, commission job ambitions, domestic stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2021-02-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 42,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27726678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsnotminorine/pseuds/itsnotminorine
Summary: You, a Commission paper-pusher, want nothing more than a life of excitement away from your stuffy office and a promotion to fieldwork. Things don't go exactly as planned however, after an incident involving sabotage and a malfunctioning briefcase. Making the most of the predicament, you build yourself a new, boring life, still pining for the job you could have had. That is, until some unexpected people show up in your life once more, reigniting the fire within and opening new doors.ON HIATUS
Relationships: Axel (Umbrella Academy)/Original Female Character(s), Axel (Umbrella Academy)/Reader, Oscar (Umbrella Academy)/Original Female Character(s), Oscar (Umbrella Academy)/Reader, Otto (Umbrella Academy)/Original Female Character(s), Otto (Umbrella Academy)/Reader, The Swedes (Umbrella Academy)/Reader
Comments: 13
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

_Well this... This could be a predicament,_ you think, slumped in an exhausted heap on the side of the road, scuffed palms, a smoking briefcase beside you. Your head is hazy and your vision spins. You can't quite quell the pounding of your racing heart.

'Predicament' was an understatement. This was bad. _Really_ bad. Like, getting-stuck-in-an-unfamiliar-time-period-with-no-briefcase bad. It wasn't like the higher-ups would help you any, they probably didn't even know you existed in the first place. Though that wasn't totally true, at least, not after the previous events of the day. Perhaps you would be infamous after today.

Soon, you had always told yourself. Soon you would apply for a promotion, a transfer- anything to get you out of that stuffy office with that awful man, always smoking like a chimney at the desk beside you.

_"A promotion? Like you could get a promotion." Tommy had scoffed, flicking a cigarette butt onto your paperwork. You had managed to swipe it away in time before the smouldering ashes could do any real damage._

_"Sure I can." you curtly replied, stacking a few thickly filled manila envelopes in their little metal basket. He laughed from his position on top of his desk where sat, legs stretching across the isle to prop his polished shoes against your desk. He lit up again and took a long drag._

_"To do what, fieldwork? Bet you never even shot a gun before." he sneered, smoke billowing from between his gleaming white teeth. His icy blue eyes stared through you from under sharp brows._

_You tripped him in the busy hall the next afternoon._

So much for that promotion now.

Struggling to your feet, you brush the dust from your white trousers and stumble into an unsteady gate, abandoning the trashed briefcase. That thing was never going to function properly again, so there was no use in dragging it along with you. God knows what happened to it. It had been working fine, _unfortunately_ , then _bam_ , smoking and sparking on the side of the road.

The cars that pass are colorful, all sorts of pastels and chrome, with long chassis and convertible roofs. Not dissimilar to the ones in the Commission parking lot, you suppose. Their brightness makes your eyes ache and your head throb worse than it had already been. The relentless sun beats down on you as you shuffle along the sidewalk, becoming more haggard by the minute. Your hair clings to your forehead and the back of your neck in pieces, sweat stinging your eyes. Time travel is a _bitch_ for first-timers. And the dreadful weather doesn't help much either.

A relieved groan escapes your lips as you lean against the wall of the closest building, the cool shade of its awning a blessing. You suppress the vertigo and nausea flooding you in waves and wipe your forehead with your blazer sleeve, before pulling it off your shoulders. Wearing it in the sun probably hadn't helped you recover from that horribly rough landing. You fold it over your forearm and finally look up, taking a look at your surroundings for the first time.

The storefronts seem dated to your modern eyes, as do the people passing, giving you peculiar side-glances. You shake the haziness from your head and continue forward, leaving the sanctuary of the shaded awning.

"This is ridiculous." you mutter to yourself, scowling in reaction to the judging stares you receive.

"I can't possibly look-" you pause mid-sentence, stopped short by your reflection in a storefront window.

Your hair is wild and windswept, framing your sweaty and frowning face, makeup smeared in places it shouldn't be. The top three buttons of your blouse are undone and it has rather unattractive dirt stains smeared haphazardly across it. You don't dare turn in the reflection, knowing full-well you'll be greeted by yet another dirt stain on the seat of your formerly perfect white pants. It's a shame, that outfit was newly pressed too.

In an attempt to salvage your last bit of dignity, you smooth your hair as best you can and run a finger under your eyes in an attempt to clear away any running makeup. Your eyes don't return to your reflection, rather, you scurry onward, eyeing a sign advertising a diner, hung above a storefront door. Without hesitation you yank it open, the bell jingling with force, startling the couple walking to make an exit. You slip past them, head lowered, and take a seat at the counter. You pinch the bridge of your nose and groan out a quiet _"Water, please"_ .

You look up to meet the gaze of the man behind the counter, staring down his nose at you with a mix of disgust and confusion. You open your mouth to speak again, perhaps to excuse your appearance, but your eyes are drawn up behind his head to a sign inscribed in an all-too-cheerful font, "Whites Only".

"Oh, what the _fuck_." you groan, your hands coming up to cover your face. The man takes a cautious step back, his dark eyes still glued on you. "Don't tell me it's when I think it is. This is absurd," you add, a bitter laugh bubbling up in your throat as you push away from the counter and spin on your heel. The fifties. Unbelievable. Definitely not one of the better time periods to wind up in, socially-speaking.

_Why did the stupid fucking case have to bust._

You push open the door to the diner and storm out, grumbling to yourself about how it was just your luck you'd wind up in this time period. You would have taken literally anything else.

_At least this day can't get much worse._

You frown, snatching a newspaper from a trash can and sitting yourself down on a bench across the way. You unfold it and scan the front page. August 1959. Great. Your jaw muscles clench continuously as you read, your eyes scanning up and down the pages as you flip through. Your mind wanders as you read the mind numbing Texan news, bringing you back to the less-than-pleasurable events of the day.

Technically, you weren't supposed to be anywhere near the briefcase storage room in the first place. Your office was halfway across the Commission building, and you had never even seen a key card with a high-enough clearance to unlock the door, let alone stood at the open door of the room. It had been that bastard Tommy's idea. That stupid, smug, Brit bastard who likes his stinking cigarettes far too much.

_"Since you want to be a field agent so bad, why don't you sneak out a briefcase. Take a test run." he had suggested during lunch-break. You simply stared back at him, flabbergasted that he would even suggest such a thing. You glanced around, making sure no one had heard his absurd statement._

_"Are you crazy? You're trying to sabotage me, aren't you? You little shit. This is payback for when I tripped your sorry ass." you whispered back harshly, leaning towards him over the cafeteria table. He crossed his arms over his chest and scoffed indignantly._

_"Of course not!" he flashed that wicked white-toothed smile and smoothed his perfectly groomed black hair, his icy eyes flicking away._

_God, you wanted to punch him. The only reason you didn't was because he was the only person in the whole damn Commission you knew, and no matter how snide and unkind he was, and until you eventually came around and made more friends, you were stuck with him. Glued at the hip like the world's most toxic paper-pushing power-duo. But there- there was another perfect reason to move into fieldwork; You're barely ever even in the building when you're a field agent, so there's no need to bother with making new acquaintances, and certainly no need to hang out with Tommy anymore. You weren't very fond of making friends within the Commission to begin with, everyone either seemed_ too _cold or_ too _friendly for your liking._

_"I'm simply suggesting you dip your feet in the water before jumping in head-first!" he continued, his palms pointed up towards the high ceiling in a mock-innocent shrug. You leaned back and pushed your meal tray away, shaking your head._

_"You're unbelievable. Absolutely not." you pursed your lips and crossed your arms._

_Barely a half an hour later you found yourself anxiously rocking on your heels, standing guard outside the briefcase storage room. Tommy had revealed a key card he swiped from God-knows-who, and practically dragged you upstairs to the storage room. You flexed your numbing hands, nails poking into your palms every time your fists closed, your eyes darting up and down the hall nervously. This was all you needed right now, for Tommy to get you sacked. His voice mumbled something from inside the room, but you hadn't caught what he said, the door propped open only halfway._

_A wave of regret washed over you and you stepped away from the door, wringing your tingling hands._

_"Tommy, this is a stupid idea. Come out of there." you demanded in a hushed voice. A muffled "No, come on," came through the doorway, but you continued to backpedal, stepping further away from the door._

_"I'm not gonna go, Tommy! I could get fired. I'm going back to the office!" you again harshly whispered, your voice cracking into normal volume more than once. You took one more step back and-_

_Whump! Right into someone's chest. Were they there a second ago? How could someone be_ that _quiet? You spun on your heel, dread forming a knot in your chest. You were met by suspicious blue eyes peering down at you. It didn't take any time at all to realize you had been caught by one of the platinum blonde assassin brothers, only really known as "The Swedes" around the Commission. He was the one with slicked hair, perhaps the leader, that was all you knew about him. His loyal brothers weren't far behind him, equally suspicious, peering around him at you. You felt yourself shrink under the intimidating stare of the man._

_His big eyes flitted from you, to the open door of the storage room, then back to you. He squinted, and you heard leather creak as he clenched his fist._

_"Tommy," you croak, taking a step away from the man's towering form. If you had encountered them under any other circumstances, you would have undoubtedly been ogling the handsome trio, but now, having been caught red handed aiding in the potential theft of a briefcase, the threat of your head on the chopping block, they were nothing but the beacons of your demise._

_"Come on, Y/n, Don't be such a- Oh," Tommy had stepped out of the storage room, heavy briefcase clearly wrapped in his arms, and paused mid-step when his eyes landed on the infamously dangerous Swedes. You stared at him over your shoulder, wide-eyed, mouth gaping like a fish._

_"Tommy, you didn't..." you trailed off, your shoulders sagging. This was the end. You were either going to get murdered or fired, right here, right now, no question about it. Thanks Tommy._

" ** _Få dem_** _!" the one you had bumped into shouted, his lip curling into a snarl as he unceremoniously pushed you aside with his forearm._

_Your back hit the wall, the momentum of his shove and your frantic backpedaling sending you stumbling across the hall. You watched Tommy duck a punch from the younger-looking brother as the slicked-hair one encroached upon him, fists clenched and looking ready to kill on sight. Out of the corner of your eye you caught movement, and swiftly turned your head, finding the tallest brother fast approaching you, his strides impossibly wide. The man was no doubt bordering on 7 feet tall, 6'5" at the very least. You scrambled backward, nearly tripping over your own feet, hoping to get to the now bloody Tommy before the other two brothers beat him to death._

_"If they don't kill us, I'll kill you myself!" You cried, yanking him by the stiff collar, saving him from what would have been a nasty punch from the spry, shorter brother. The briefcase was still locked tightly in his arms as you dragged him backwards, practically jogging down the hall._

_"Oh well," he muttered, making you pause. He ducked behind you as the trio exchanged glances and advanced. You heard a strange noise from behind you before he tapped you on the shoulder._

_"Here, for you." he said, a peculiar edge to his voice, reaching around and placing something heavy in your surprised arms. No sooner had he done so, did he take off like a bat out of hell, his shoes squeaking against the linoleum tile floor as he sprinted down the opposite hallway. You looked down at the thing in your arms._

_The briefcase. Of course he was pinning this on you. You looked back up at the three brothers, but were surprised when they kept their distance, lingering about a dozen feet away. Maybe they were only after Tommy? A cautiously relieved sigh escaped your lips before you returned your gaze to the heavy case cradled in your arms._

_Had it been glowing before? As the realization dawned upon you, you looked up, your fearful eyes meeting the deadpan faces of the brothers, before-_ ZAP _!_

You were flat on your ass in the fifties with no return ticket. Fucking fantastic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy friends! Well this is my first time posting fic since I was fourteen (yikes). I'm a bit nervous as I'm not familiar with the platform, but am excited to finally share. The first few chapters will be posted consecutively, but I can't say what my uploading schedule will look like for the future. I've got semi-big plans for this and I hope you enjoy ❤️.


	2. Chapter 2

You stretch, groaning as your stiff spine pops a good few times. Your money jar hadn't accumulated nearly enough to buy a new mattress, so you forced yourself to be content with sleeping on the jarringly uncomfortable one you already had. 

Three and a half years. That's how long you had been stuck in this dreadful era. Marking every passing day on the calendar with a red line had gone out the window barely two months after you'd settled in. 

You started out in a local motel; A grimy place by all standards, peeling wallpaper, strange stains, obnoxiously lewd noises from the rooms opposite you, but, it had been all you could afford with money you had scrounged from your pockets and change you found on the sidewalk.

The motel desk clerk had given you a perplexed look when you meandered in, disheveled, dirty, and strangely dressed. Nevertheless, he had accepted your money and given you a room. 

It had been a week since the incident then, long enough to cool down, and finally you had privacy to take a shower and wash your clothes in the bathroom sink, but most importantly, sleep somewhere other than a park bench. The next day, freshly cleaned, you set out to look for work. It was an abrupt 360 from your previous predicament, living homeless, practically begging for spare change and food. The payment for the room wouldn't last long and you knew it. You needed to find stability in such an unstable nightmare of a situation.

One shop in particular had caught your eye. It took a bit of pleading, but the bakery shop owner (who you came to know as Mrs. O'Neil) agreed to give you a job. The wages were meager, but it was enough to survive. When she discovered you were a hard worker and were determined to make a good impression on her, she gave you a more permanent position.

After a few months of working for her, bless her soul, she invited you to live with her in her small apartment above the bakery. She, being a recent widow, found herself lonely on many occasions, and you reminded her of her granddaughter who she hadn't seen in years. You graciously accepted her offer and moved in with her, taking up residence in her cramped guest room. You payed rent through taking charge of the majority household chores, laundry, washing and drying dishes, vacuuming, cooking dinner every other night, the works. She insisted that was enough and didn't ask for any of your salary money, which you appreciated.

Even nearly four years later, she didn't know much about your past, only that you had been in a bad way when you stumbled into her bakery that fateful day in '59. You had briefly mentioned you had been ditched by an acquaintance, no money or belongings, on the side of the road in an unfamiliar town, to which she had responded _"Some acquaintance, huh?"_ in her sweet southern drawl. You simply chuckled and went back to work baking, not bringing it up again. It's not that you didn't want to open up to her, tell her about your life working as a temp paper-pusher at a time agency, your horrible experience winding up in her era, but you just _couldn't._

Despite this, you had come to love her like a family member, figuring she was something of a mother figure. She had been so kind and generous to you, even when she hadn't needed to be, and you figured you would forever be in her debt for all she had done for you. She had taught you to sew your own clothes from patterns and cook proper meals, and always encouraged you to "talk like a lady", to which you would smile and nod, and respond with a ridiculously crude statement to fluster her. Her chubby cheeks would always glow as red as the curly hair on her head, making you laugh even harder.

You were Y/n to her, just Y/n. That was all you needed to be with her. She didn't mind you were reserved and secretive, or that she would sometimes hear you up late in the night, quietly sniffling and crying in your room beside hers. Without fail, you would always greet her in the morning with a warm smile and go about your routine. She knew there were things about you that she didn't know, but she was content to keep it that way. Everyone has their secrets. To her you were Y/n, a bright, kind young woman who just started off on a bad foot.

Washed and dressed for the day, you walk out into the living room of the small apartment, absorbing the smell of fresh-baked bread wafting from downstairs. Glancing at the clock, you realize you overslept and scamper to the front door, tugging on your saddle shoes before running out, nearly forgetting to lock the door behind you. You fly down the stairs, jumping the bottom four and landing on your feet with a _thud_. You smooth your dress and slip into the bakery kitchen, hoping not to be spotted sneaking in late. How you had managed to sleep in more than an hour was beyond you.

Slipping on your apron, you go through the inventory, checking and double-checking that all the ingredients were present and in their proper places. You had a tendency to burn the bread in the oven, so you had been put on semi-permanent stock/ cashier duty. You didn't mind that much.

_It's still not fieldwork, though._ You shake the thought from your mind and continue puttering around, trying to push the fantasy that could-have-been away. The Commission hadn't come after you, to kill you or save you, and that was all that mattered. You would never see a Commission agent again. You would certainly never see that rat Tommy again either, which you couldn't say you were sorry about. Though you had gone along with it, this was ultimately his fault.

You're startled from your ruminating by Mrs. O'Neil clapping a hand on your shoulder.

"You sounded like you were having a rough night, so no worries about being late." she greeted you with warm smile. You didn't recall having any bad dreams, or even being restless, but you nodded in appreciation anyway. Maybe she was just excusing your oversleeping.

"Since you were late, though, can your run out and get some more stock? Here, I have a list and the money." she continued, placing the papers in your open palm. You folded it and placed in it in the pocket of your skirt , nodding again at her.

"Need anything else while I'm out?" you asked as you removed the apron from your figure. She shook her head, her greying red hair bouncing around her round face. Another employee calling her from the front of the bakery draws her attention away, and she shouts back to them.

"Alright, hon, get a move on, we need that stuff for tomorrows batches." she says, turning back to you, shooing you out of the kitchen into the front shop. You wave your hand and laugh lightly, amused by the older woman's playful attitude.

The November air has a chill to it, even in Texas, and a small part of you wishes you would have put on a cardigan when you woke. You stroll down the sidewalk, a skip in your step, thinking back to when you had first walked down this street. You had a stable life now, a place to live and a job, a loving friend to look out for you. You hated to admit it, but sometimes you found yourself happier here than you had ever been at the Commission. Tommy had made your life a living hell, especially at the very end of your employment there, and you had never _really_ been happy there. Working at Mrs. O'Neil's bakery, living a quiet, peaceful life, it felt... better.

_It's still not fieldwork!_

You scowl, almost stopping in your tracks. That thought had been simply plaguing you lately. You were more than content with this slow lifestyle, but you still longed for adventure. A promotion would have given you that.

_It's been long enough, let it go Y/n._ _Mrs. O'Neil was nice enough to take you in. Stop wishing for more than that._ You chastise yourself, rather forcefully, hoping to drive the thought from your muddled head.

The sound of a bus pulling to the curb beside you pulls your attention from your shoes. You glance up as it rumbles to a stop a bit in front of you, dead leaves and dust on the street gently billowing from under the tires in small puffs. It's one of those big silver ones. You slow your stroll, allowing the door to open and the first few people to file out in front of you. You continue at your relaxed but feel a presence come up beside you, a large figure that quickly outpaces you, then another, and another.

_Boy, they're in a hurry, huh?_ You think, before glancing up from your shoes again.

The backs of three distinctly familiar platinum blondes walk briskly ahead of you, raising guns-

_No. Fucking. Way._ Your mouths drops open and you freeze, the frantic screams of your fellow pedestrians drowned out by your heart beating in your ears.

These three. The last people you had laid eyes upon before being booted back in time. Assassins you had been sure were going to kill you that day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also please excuse the shortness of some chapters, it's been bothering me but I can't change it now...


	3. Chapter 3

Your heart pounds in your chest as you stand on the sidewalk, still as a statue, every nerve in your body frozen. There's no way your paths could cross again after all this time, could they? Are they here to finally take you out? No, what happened that day wasn't _that_ important for a hit to be put out on you... was it?

Within the blink of an eye chaos erupts at the intersection of the street. In a flourish of dramatics and billowing coats, the three men open fire at an unassuming man on a bench. The target's aura screams Commission, but you can't be sure. Pedestrians stumble past, fleeing the scene in a frenzied panic as they stalk towards his unmoving body. Your feet remain glued to the spot though, eyes wide and mouth agape in shock. Perhaps not horror at the scene, but most definitely shock. The palms of your hands tingle and your stomach knots. Your mind races too fast for you to comprehend all the questions swirling around.

_Run before they see you! They wouldn't kill a pedestrian would they? But what if they recognize you! They're not here for you! But what if-_

"Hey!" The declaration slips from your lips as a shout as a man runs past, roughly bumping your shoulder with his, fleeing in a blind panic without giving a thought to his surroundings. This shakes you from your stiff fear though, and the feeling returns to your limbs once more. Your feet move to step backward by their own volition, your eyes remaining on the all-too-familiar Commission agents.

Watching them, they seem to be searching for someone, checking under cars and glaring at the faces of retreating pedestrians. Maybe it was your outburst, or his sixth sense tingling at your relentless stare, but the youngest-looking turns and locks eyes with you from down the street. Even from a decent length away you can see his features clearly, his piercing blue eyes focusing in on you and you alone.

The moment seems infinite as he comes to a halt, his posture strangely relaxed and his hands gripping a shotgun. You take another half-step backward. There's no way the buckshot could reach you from all the way over there could it? That fear is squashed when he doesn't move to fire; He barely even turns to face you. Instead, you watch his gaze casually flick to the forms of his preoccupied brothers before returning to you, more curious than threatening. You can't ignore the look of recognition that blooms on his smug face, nor the crooked smirk that creeps across it either. Your surprise cannot be outmatched when he playfully winks before swiftly turning, following his brothers in pursuit of an unknown target.

The hair rises on your arms and you feel your heart racing in your throat, your wild eyes following them as they disappear around the block. Air rushes into your lungs as you take in a breath. You didn't even realize you had been holding it in the first place. Out of their direct line of sight, your fight or flight response finally takes hold properly and you retreat back in the direction of home.

Before you know it the bakery door is slamming shut behind you, the bell chiming with vigor. You barely remember having run all the way back. Your chest heaves and your eyes quickly scan the faces of the confused, perhaps judgmental customers. You take a deep, shaking breath, feeling the stability of the glass door against your back. Mrs. O'Neil scurries out of the kitchen, wiping flour on her apron, a worried look on her reddened face. You feel sweat roll down your forehead despite the temperature outside.

"Y/n! What happened? What's wrong?" she cries, crossing the storefront in an instant, her arms outstretched towards you.

She tenderly takes your blanched face in her cupped hands, examining you closely, as if inspecting you for injury. You flounder for words, slumping against her as she leads you into the kitchen, away from the prying eyes of the customers.

"I'm... I don't- I can't believe-" you splutter as she sits you down on a stool, gently rubbing circles on your shoulder blade. "I recognized someone... From before." you mutter, looking up to peer at her through watery eyes.

Why are you crying, though? So overcome by emotion that you can barely think straight. A part of you fears with every fiber that you'll be their next target, but then again why wouldn't they have killed you then and there and been done with it? Why had the notoriously ruthless youngest spared you- not called for his brothers' attention? Had he been toying with you? Taunting you only to hunt you down at a later date? But that was silly, if they were here for you why would they have gone for another person.

You take a deep breath, calming yourself at the realization you probably aren't a target. Yes, stealing a briefcase was bad, horrible even in the eyes of the Commission, but you hadn't been the one to steal it in the first place. Never in four years had there been any sign of another agent, at least none that you knew of.

There is however, another part of you, deep deep down that is excited- excited at the prospect of a life of danger once again, a life you had been robbed of. Your face scrunches and you hang your head, hunching over to bury your face in your hands, elbows propped on knees. You can't help but feel guilty for longing for that sort of dangerous rush. Under the fear you had felt in the moment you had also felt something else. If Tommy could see you now he would be beside himself with laughter, no doubt reveling in your confusion over your own feelings.

"Hon, are you alright?" Mrs. O'Neil asks, stooping to try and get a look at your face. You sniffle and wipe your eyes, taking a deep breath to gather your composure again as you sit up.

"I'm sorry, yea. I'm alright, don't worry about me, Mrs. O'Neil. I'm sorry for scaring you." you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

"If this is about that no-good friend of yours who-"

"No, no," you suddenly laugh, cutting her off, "Not him, Mrs. O'Neil. Don't worry about it, okay?" you say softly, holding her hand gently. You're surprised she remembers your excuse story about Tommy, it had been a long long time ago you made it up. Then again she doesn't forget much.

She seems to relax as you stand, but her concerned expression remains, even as you kindly look down at her and pat her arm. You can't bear the thought of worrying her, especially with... well, _this._ You brush past her and head towards the small stock room again, apologizing for not buying her the supplies for tomorrow. She calls after you, asking if you want to take the day off, but you wave her off, hoping spending the rest of the day working will help clear your head.

The day goes smoothly, if you forget the many customers who came in gossiping about the police scene a few blocks down. You're relieved when the day is over and you can retreat back upstairs, though.


	4. Chapter 4

You wake in a cold sweat at an ungodly hour, the dark of your closet-sized room shrouding your vision. The idea that swirls in your mind is undoubtedly the stupidest one you've ever conjured. Tommy would be proud of you for this one.

_You're not going through with this, Y/n. Go back to bed. You've barely thought this through._

You wiggle out from under the covers and squeeze yourself out from between the side of your bed and the wall, side-stepping in the space just wider than the thickness of your thighs. The air is cold against your exposed arms and legs.

_This is so stupid, you know that. A bad idea all around._

You rummage in the small dresser wedged in the corner of the room, blindly searching for- Ah there they are. You tug out a cable-knit sweater, in the dark you can't tell the color, and a knee-length wool skirt, as well as proper daytime undergarments. You fumble to undress from your nightclothes then redress again fully without being too loud, which is a feat in the cramped space. You finish it with a belt and socks, and feel warmer already.

_You're really considering going out and finding them? You don't even know where to find them. What exactly is the idea here smartass?_

Your head spins as you make your way quietly through the apartment.

_And what happens if you do find them? You talk it out like old pals? What do you want from them- You want them to bring you back to the Commission, where you're probably banned from even stepping foot in the building? You want to tempt fate in the event they do want to assassinate you? WHAT?_

You pause midway through slipping on your saddle shoes by the front door. You cringe inwardly at the sound of the sheer stupidity of your half-baked plan. The ticking clock reads 3am, and you can hear Mrs. O'Neil lightly snoring from her room. There are no other sounds from anywhere else in the apartment or outside, nothing to hide the beating of your heart. What _do_ you want?

Nothing in your strange life has made sense up until now, but somehow, this feels like the right decision. _Somehow_ being the key word. Clearly, chasing after three highly skilled assassins isn't a good idea, you're smart enough to realize that. But on the other hand, you can't help but feel like you need, _must_ , seek them out. For closure? Adrenaline? Maybe you just want to see that smirk again-

The door creaks as you gently pull it open and you wince, hoping it isn't loud enough to wake your friend. You would leave no letter this time. You've snuck out during the night before, gone for days on end in search of a way back, some hint of your former life, but you always left a note saying you'd return. You don't even want to consider tangling her up in your mess- and oh a mess it will certainly become if you're not delicate about it. She'll worry when she finds you gone, but it would be better than leaving her a letter saying you might not come back, or if you do perhaps in a pine box. Unless you're taken out in some unsavory way, you do plan on coming back, if only to say goodbye. You really do- it would be cruel not to.

The door shuts silently behind you, and you gently creep down the stairs to the back exit of the building. It takes you to an alley between the backs of adjacent buildings, then a street off of Main. Once again you find yourself regretting not taking a cardigan or jacket, but are thankful for the small bit of warmth your sweater and thick skirt provide. Your worn shoes scuff against the pavement as you walk, and in the dim light of the occasional street lamp you're reminded of the single time you had ever hung out with Tommy outside of work. He had suggested- insisted rather, on visiting a not-so-savory bar, which you had turned your nose up at. Eventually you gave into to his pleading, your soft heart never one to remain stoic for too long. The night out ended with the both of you trudging down a foreign sidewalk, drenched in another patron's drink after Tommy had said something particularly crude to them and you were caught in the crossfire. You hated him for it, but even still a small smile tugs at your lips at the thought of him getting splashed in the face. You wonder where he is now- or in the future rather? The past? You aren't sure, but you still wonder how he's been, or if he's even still around after the stunt you both pulled.

You kick a littered tin can into the road and stop on the curb, glancing down the barren street in either direction, your hands firmly in your skirt pockets. From no more than a few blocks away you hear the screeching wheels of a car, tearing down the streets at an undoubtedly illegal speed. As the can spins to a stop on the center line and you move to step into the road, the car roars around the corner and down the street, blasting past you. It's too dark and the car is moving too fast for you to see the dunce driving, but you still glare at it as it passes, fishtailing around another corner and disappearing again, leaving only the roar of its tires and engine in its wake.

"Damn." you mutter incredulously, shaking your head in disapproval, finally stepping off the curb and onto the street.

You wander out to the middle, kicking the can again, following it down the double yellow line as it skitters forward. Childhood habits surface as you absentmindedly tiptoe down the right line, one foot in front of the other, watching the paint glimmering in the dim light as you step over in a meticulously steady rhythm. Every time you come upon the can you kick it again, turning an intersection with it.

You feel... good. Relaxed despite heading straight into certain danger. A bitter laugh bubbles from your throat when the realization dawns upon you that you have no idea what you're doing. You're truly lost. Back at the Commission you had something to look forward to. The anticipation for applying for a promotion had kept you vigilant, on your toes, but now, no. You've been doing the same thing for the past going-on four years, wake up, take stock, work the register, return home, cook or clean, go to sleep, repeat. And _God_ is it tiresome, reliving the same day over and over and over again, stuck in an endless cycle of boredom. You give the can an extra hard kick at that thought and it lands a few yards down the street. Granted Mrs. O'Neil livens your days up significantly, but nothing will ever beat having something to look forward to.

_Could that be why you're hunting these goons down? You think they'll give you something to look forward to? What, a bullet to head and a belly full of buckshot? These are bloodthirsty assassins you're talking about, if you think they'll give you anything other than a quick death then you better g-_

You're nearly blinded by another car turning an abrupt corner, and you scamper out of the middle of the road, your arm shielding your scrunched face. You stand on the curb again, perched on it with the toes of your shoes sticking over the edge, scowling at the truck as it rumbles towards you. You hear a crunch as one of the tires runs over the can and you scowl more, lowering your arm to your side, your brows furrowed and mouth pulled into a tight line. They can most certainly see you illuminated in the obnoxiously bright headlights. What asshole drives in a residential area with their brights on anyway? The truck slows as it passes you, slow enough for you to make _direct_ eye contactwith the driver, dimly lit by the reflection of the headlights.

_Ah, that's who._

You most definitely stop breathing as a set of all-too familiar eyes peer back at you out the driver-side window. The ringleader, eldest, whatever he is, glares at you for as long as it takes to pass by. Is is just plain old menace? Or can he recognize you? You can't read his blank expression in such little time- but from what little you remember of seeing him around the building, he was never one to express much to begin with. The truck passes as soon it had appeared and you watch it as it rumbles further and further away, turning four intersections down and slipping away into the morning dark.

Your shoes slip off the slick curb and kick up gravel as you take off in that direction, abandoning the poor squashed tin can, only one thing on your mind.

_Follow that damn truck._


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For further notice, bold = the fellas speaking Swedish (but you probably could have figured that out by yourself)

" **What do you keep smirking about?** " Otto asks, staring down at his brother's crooked grin.

He had been giddy all day- far more giddy than normal. The shorter man shrugs, flaring his nostrils and pursing his lips as if to speak and excuse his behavior... But no, he simply shrugs again, tilting his head to showcase an even smugger grin in the early morning darkness.

Otto huffs and shakes his head, pushing off the side of the truck to seek the company of his less ridiculous brother, who stands contemplating the mission failure on the steps of the asylum. Oscar stays put, pulling his new bowtie taught, his foot resting on the tire behind him. He wouldn't tell them why he was smiling, instead he would let them figure it out themselves. Surely they would in time, but not with any help from him. He chuckles, flicking his switchblade open and shut, open and shut, before stepping forward and hurling it at his distracted brothers.

You look different from when last he saw you. Sure you had probably experienced a different timeline; Months, maybe years have gone by for you, but for them it has just been two short days. Your hair is different now, a short, mid-neck length in the recognizable style of the decade, and your clothes looked period accurate, not the strange Commission era-amalgamations agents so often wear. Of course, catching you stealing a briefcase hadn’t been the first time he laid eyes on you. Oh no. Oscar has been smitten with you the moment he first saw you in the cafeteria months ago, going as far as to jab Otto in the ribs to point you out. In response he had swallowed and turned a visible shade of red upon spotting you, and spluttered for Oscar to get lost.

He wouldn't deny the twinge in his stomach he felt when you had been abandoned by that man, the panic on your face when you looked up at them, almost as if pleading with them in a last ditch effort-

" **This was useless. We're leaving.** " Axel interrupts Oscar's thoughts, pressing the switchblade flat against his chest as he passes him to climb into the truck.

Axel too had noticed Oscar's strange behavior all day long, but hadn't put much thought into it, assuming he's simply excited to be on an interesting mission. And interesting it is, taking out an entire family. Granted, they've done it before, but never ones with super-powers. He slams the door shut, stiffly settling behind the wheel. His gloved hands flex on the wheel, the muscles in his shoulders tense as he stares forward out the windshield at the building. The asylum mission ended with wasted ammunition, the target escaping, and Axel beyond annoyed. The target is certainly _long_ gone by now, and will undoubtedly complicate things in the future.

His brothers pile into the truck soon after him, Otto claiming the passenger seat as his own, and Oscar resting awkwardly on a loose milk-crate behind the two front seats. Without so much as a word the truck is thrown into gear and haphazardly backed out of the parking spot, rumbling down the darkened streets away from the asylum and its rampant escapees. Oscar busies himself with returning the guns to the duffel, wedging the heavy artillery into the bag like puzzle pieces. Otto is the primary carrier of the weapons duffel, being the physically strongest of the three, but each haul their own weight respectively. Their individual packs rest beside the duffel, amongst the undelivered milk bottles littering the truck floor.

The truck takes a sharp turn and the milk crate Oscar sits on slides, nearly throwing him off balance. He grips the headrest of Axel's seat and scowls at the back of his groomed head.

" **Watch where you're driving.** " he says, staring daggers at the eldest brother. Axel scoffs and glances over his shoulder.

" **Like you even know how to drive. Mind your business.** " he retorts, returning his stony eyes to the road.

Behind him Oscar mouths his words in mockery, before shuffling the crate over to sit between the two seats. He glances up at Otto, who too is focused on the road ahead as the truck takes a few more turns. The silence doesn't last long before Otto leans forward in his seat, motioning for Axel to look ahead.

" **Slow down, there's someone in the road.** " The headlights flood a figure approaching, who holds up an arm at the brightness. Axel nearly rolls his eyes, setting his jaw and letting off the gas, slowing significantly as the person flees to the curb in a few quick, long strides.

Oscar makes a strange strangled noise from the makeshift backseat when the light illuminates the scowling face of the person. Otto leans forward, squinting to get a better look, while Axel simply turns to watch out his window.

He recognizes you, your face unforgettable even in the dark. You stand like an omnipotent statue in the darkness, leering from the side of the road, arms stiff at your sides and eyes shadowed. Ah, he could never forget a face like that... Even still he returns your glare until you're out of eyeshot, only then does he shift back to his former position.

" **You saw her too, right?** " Oscar asks after a beat, craning his neck forward to peer up at the two. Otto nods and turns away to look out his window, giving no further answer. Axel on the other hand glances down, his eyes creasing as he squints at the youngest.

" **She's why you've been acting strangely. You saw her before, didn't you.** " he doesn't have to hear Oscar's answer. He knows he's right. " **When?** "

" **When what.** " Oscar replies slyly, sitting back in his uncomfortable seat.

" **Oh, you know what. When did you see her? It couldn't have been-** "

" **After we got off the bus, when we were looking for the kid.** " he says, scratching the back of his neck, a smirk pulling his lips upward. Axel groans, rolling his neck until the vertebrae audibly pop, the leather of his gloves creaking as he grips the wheel. Oscar only snickers, picking at his nails with his teeth, an annoying habit that bothers his brother endlessly. 

" **What is she doing here?** " Axel asks, though it's mostly rhetorical.

" **When I saw her she looked as if she'd been here for a while. Probably a coincidence.** " Oscar answers anyway, keenly observing Axel's eyes routinely flicking to check the rearview, perhaps to check for you.

" **What does that mean then?** " Otto pipes up, not bothering to look away from the window.

" **Doesn't mean anything, only that we're here and she's here and we need to finish the mission regardless. Ships in the night.** " Axel replies through gritted teeth. It's clear he wants to be left to his ruminating, so they let the subject die, retuning to silence.

Axel is the least familiar with you, the only time he had ever seen you before now was when you were caught with a briefcase, but he has sure as hell _heard_ a lot about you. Oscar hadn't shut up about you for a week after he had first seen you, and occasionally Otto would comment as well, though always red-faced and bashful about it. Having seen you up close and personal that day he could certainly see why they had taken a fancy to you, but either way he simply can't have them distracted on such an important mission. Ships in the night... just ships in the night.

Otto taps on the glass of the window, concentrated on the condensation, trying to draw his attention anywhere but to you. He can't deny that having to pursue you that day had worried him deeply, upset him even. The image of you scrambling away in fright was one seared into his mind, and has plagued him morning 'til night since it happened. He doesn't even know your name, though nor do Oscar or Axel as far as he knows. Yet still, you're the only woman- nay, the only _person_ other than his brothers, that makes him anxious to... To what, impress? Defend? He can't quite place the feeling. He still can't help but feel betrayed Oscar hadn't mentioned seeing you sooner, though. He knows he only hid the fact for shits and giggles, to amuse himself for a short time, but regardless. A part of him hopes his brother is wrong, that you won't be just a ship in the night, but he knows the mission is first and foremost, end of story. Damn is it going to be difficult knowing you're here, though.


	6. Chapter 6

You sit on the ground, shoes in hand, your head propped unceremoniously in your palm. You had chased after the truck for at least an hour as it drove in circles around the town. Obviously you had been stealthy about following them, keeping a safe distance, but still close enough to keep up. It had only pulled over in a rather run-down residential area when the sun was beginning to peak over the horizon. That had to be nearly an hour ago now. Ridiculously, you had managed to tuck yourself away behind a bush before the light had gotten too bright, a perfect vantage point to be hidden and still have a good line of sight.

_God, you've never run so much in your life! Never again._

You feel your heavy eyelids flutter shut for a moment before you jerk awake. Your hair sticks to your neck and forehead, once groomed strands now sticking to your cold sweat. It's freezing but you barely feel it, your body temperature still risen from the unexpected chase. You had taken off your shoes when they started cutting into your ankles, leaving burning blisters that would undoubtedly last for days. No doubt there are holes in your socks now, but you can't care less at the moment. You need to keep your exhausted focus on the idle truck at the end of the street. It's horribly difficult though, and horribly boring too.

Your head jerks as you jolt awake again and you nearly yelp in surprise as your head hits a branch. Your fingers move to untangle the twigs from your messy hair and your eyes return to the truck. There's movement by it and it takes a moment to register three figures standing beside it. Had you actually fallen asleep? It couldn't have been that long- No, the sun is higher in the sky and it's clearly later than it had been when you kept dozing off.

_Shit._

You squirm into a more comfortable position after feeling the fuzzy onset of pins and needles in your legs. You watch cautiously as the three men cross the street, not bothering to check either direction, making a beeline for the house on the end of the row. A bush, multiple chainlink fences, and a few cars separate you, but you still feel the buzz of electric suspicion that follows them like a storm cloud, even from here. You lose sight of them as they climb the steps of the house's front stoop, but faintly hear the muffled ring of a doorbell through an open window.

You feel something against your wrist and jump, tearing your eyes away from the house to a skinny cat at your side. It continues to rub itself against your arm, nuzzling against your sweater sleeve. It's small and white with a grey spot over its right ear. You can't help but crack a tired, toothy smile at it and lift your hand to scratch it behind the ears, making it purr and nuzzle into you more.

"Hey little fella, where did you come from?" you ask quietly, hunching down to whisper to it.

It gives you one last nuzzle before wiggling out from under your gentle hand and squeezing through the chainlink fence. It doesn't seem hard for it to do so though, it looks thin enough for you to be slightly concerned for its health and you watch it with furrowed brows as it slinks away across the unkept yards of other houses, eventually disappearing behind the last one.

_The last one! Right!_

Your attention snaps back to what you can see of the last house. It's not much, but it doesn't look like they're on the stoop anymore. The door looks closed, and they certainly aren't back at the truck. You huff and find yourself letting out a bitter chuckle. How much would Tommy bet you to waltz right up those steps and through that door-

You stand, your weary joints popping as you stretch. You still aren't sure how long you've been crammed in the bush, but it's long enough for you to look even more disheveled than before. You don't even recognize the area you're in, which is a feat. Living here for near four years and you thought you'd been everywhere there was to pass through. The street is unfamiliar and it will probably take a while more to regain your bearings and wander home.

You've achieved your goal, you know where they are- for the time being at least. You repeat the street name in your head over and over, making sure you won't forget it. If they really did go in that house, perhaps this is where the Commission is having them stay? Maybe they've changed the lodging policy in the time you've been gone.

You return your shoes to your sore feet and shuffle out from inside the bush. In hindsight it's probably one of the more stupid things you've done, hiding in a bush. Nowhere near as stupid as stalking trained assassins for reasons still unclear, though. No, it's doubtful anything will ever top that one...

You give one last glance at the house number before slinking down the street as the cat had done, in the opposite direction back to where you came from. You stay close to the interior edge of the sidewalk, too busy mulling over all the possibilities and outcomes and how the hell to get home to notice a very eager, very bloody head poking out the last house's window.

Oscar leans out the open window, nearly bent at the waist to watch you dejectedly meander down the street. He's drenched in the slummy landlady's blood, his bright blue eyes stark against the contrasting color on his face and matting hair.

" **Look what we have here, a visitor! She should come back and say hi!** " he grins, leaning further out, looking as if to call out-

" **You idiot, get back in here!** " Axel shouts, yanking him back through the window by the tail of his shirt. " **What the hell are you d-** " he himself leans out the window, looking for who or what caught his easily distracted attention.

" **Oh _fuck._** " he hisses, retreating back inside before slamming the window shut behind him.

He turns on his heel, his sharp eyes scanning his brothers, both equally drenched in blood. Otto stands awkwardly fiddling his hands together, his sopping hair hanging limp around his blood spattered face, Oscar beside him still grinning. The landlady, bloody, prostrate, and definitely dead on the floor completes the scene. It had been messier than usual, but they had left their guns in the duffle and had to make do on short notice. It had only taken a few moments to do away with her. Axel shakes his head, dumbfounded by his brother's actions.

" **You realize she's a liability, don't you?** " he asks, stepping over the woman's legs to prod Oscar in the forehead with his index finger. It succeeds in startling him, yet he deftly blinks up at him.

" **She knows where we're stationed, yet we still don't know a thing about her. Why she stole that briefcase, why she's here in the first place. You're thinking with the wrong head, brother.** " he says through gritted teeth, roughly brushing past him to stalk to the front door. " **I've had just about enough of this. Take her out in the yard. I'll be back.** " he finishes, opening, passing through, and slamming the door in one swift motion.

Oscar tucks his chin against his chest, surely only spreading the bloodstains, eyes fixated on the dead woman. He thought Axel had also seen you, clearly visible a few houses down, practically snoozing and wedged between a fence and a bush. Otto certainly had, his pace quickening as they crossed the street to get out of your line of sight as quickly as possible. Maybe Axel hadn't noticed simply because he isn't always on the lookout for you like he and Otto. That couldn't be true though, no one could miss his icy eyes dilating whenever you're brought up, especially not his keen brothers. You; The mystery woman who seems to haunt the trio more and more with each day. Maybe Axel is right, that they should put their childish crushes behind them and focus on the more important task at hand.

" **Axel is right, we're being silly. We don't even know her name.** " Otto says lowly as if reading Oscar's mind, stepping around the woman's body in preparation to begin to move her.

" **What do you know, big baby. Can't even stand to look at her.** " Oscar snaps back, irritated at having to hear it aloud from someone else. He takes the woman's ankles while Otto hoists her by the shoulders. They both huff in mild annoyance at having to move her, Otto scowling at him. He lets the subject drop though, much more concentrated on removing the unsightly mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not one of my favorite chapters so far, these next few that'll come out soon were kinda rough to get through- slow and mildly boring to write tbh. It'll pick up though don't worry, the excitement hasn't even started yet (God I hope at least lmao). Thanks for the support thus far, love y'all.


	7. Chapter 7

You rake your fingers through your hair as you walk, trying desperately to detangle it before making your way back into town. You barely lived down your first mortifying experience wandering the streets, a second time would simply be tragic. The streets still aren't familiar, and you haven't seen hide or hair of another person on the sidewalk or otherwise. Not even a car passing by. The dull drone of the wind rustling leaves and occasional bird chirp leaves you with nothing to do but but ruminate and regret as your weary feet keep you moving at a steady pace.

"What the hell are you gonna do now, Y/n, huh?" you ask yourself aloud, shaking your head. "All you do is come up with these stupid ideas harebrained plans and then what? Sit in a bush for hours?"

Disappointment laces your voice. You're returning, or trying to return, home having accomplished nothing at all. What had even been the point of following them if you aren't going to do anything about it?

"Tommy would've walked right up those steps and- and..."

Your feet feel like cement as you come to a standstill. No. You won't sit by and twiddle your thumbs while your chance for _something_ is right down the street. You came here with a plan to get back to (or at the very least get a taste of) your old life, and that's exactly what you'll do.

In a swift spin you turn, but nearly jump out of you skin at the sight before you. The familiar towering figure of the eldest brother stands far too close and far too silent. The shock of seeing him no more than three feet behind you causes your closed fist to fly at him in an involuntary muscle reaction. He catches it in a vice grip of his own, his face twisting into... surprise, confusion?

You bare you teeth when his gloved grip tightens and his hand lowers yours, followed by an explosion of color blooming in your vision as cold, hard metal hits your temple. In the moment you hadn't seen the pistol held tightly in his other hand. You barely even register the throbbing pain before your ears ring out and a prickling darkness encompasses your vision. Fighting the fuzzy feeling you stumble, trying to keep yourself upright despite the tunnel vision. You're awake for just long enough to feel strong arms wrap around you before you have the chance to collapse completely, before falling victim to unconsciousness.

Axel cringes, nearly externally, at having done that. A part of him wishes you had never followed them, never tried to get yourself involved in some convoluted way, never seen them in the first place and enraptured his brothers so. Perhaps enraptured himself as well, he thinks, cradling you in his arms, the sight of your bloodied head tugging at his heartstrings. He reassures himself it's better than having assassinated you, better for morale, for his blackened conscious, for you- a pretty young thing with far too much ahead to die of the side of the road at the hands of a rough unfeeling man. Feeling your limp weight in his arms as he makes his back to the house twists his stomach in a way he's rarely ever felt. Twist in guilt perhaps at not letting you go off to wherever you had been heading... Oh, will his brothers be furious.

And furious they are.

" **What did you _do_!**" Oscar cries, upon seeing his brother shoulder open the door, you his arms and the usual scowl on his face.

" **I couldn't simply let her walk away knowing where we are. She could compromise the mission.** " he dryly states, laying you out on the musty couch. His boot sticks to a stray bloodstain and he notices the rug is gone, most likely disposed of along with the woman. Almost immediately a scrawny cat jumps onto your lap, curling up in a ball on your unconscious form.

Oscar stares at his elder brother, jaw slack, unable to form the words to scream at him. He _knows_ you could compromise the mission, but was _kidnapping_ in order? He runs his hands through his stained hair then covers his face, groaning and turning away from the two of you. He can't stand to look at the small amount blood running down the side of your face from a bruising cut on your temple, despite having just been done with cleaning a murder scene.

" **You know I didn't want it to come to this.** " Axel says gruffly, crossing his arms over his broad chest in defense.

Oscar turns back to him, pressing his tongue to his teeth, eyes avoiding his brothers. He can hear the truth in his tone, but it's hard to believe when there you are on the couch, clearly not in perfect condition. They hear the heavy footfalls of Otto coming through the back door of the house, but ignore him for the time being.

" **So what, you're gonna kill her?** " Oscar asks through gritted teeth, burying his hands deep in his trouser pockets. Even thinking about it makes his head spin and his stomach churn. And still he doesn't even know your damn name, yet can't seem to tear his eyes from you.

Axel scoffs and departs from standing beside the couch, placing the pistol on the kitchen table. " **Don't be ridiculous. We don't even know why she's here. It could be an innocent reason.** " he says over his shoulder, shrugging. Maybe the truth is that he would simply hate to do it.

" **If it is? Innocent?** "

Axel opens his mouth to speak but is interrupted by Otto who comes through the kitchen and nearly trips over his own feet at the sight of you. He stands frozen mid-step, eyes wide and brow furrowed in confusion.

" **Not dead, don't worry.** " Oscar sighs, rolling his neck in annoyance before continuing, " **Axel I understand what you're trying-** "

Axel turns in the blink of an eye, stepping forward to loom over him.

" **No, you don't Oscar.** " With the tilt of his head and flash of pearly teeth in snarling frown Oscar steps away, shoulders slumping as he frowns.

" **What are we going to do now?** " Otto croaks out after the awkward, tension-filled silence continues for a bit too long. He dares not step an inch further towards you. " **What if someone saw you- um, you know,** " he motions to the side of his head then gestures towards you. Axel scoffs, turning back to the table, waving him off.

" **No one saw. Have you seen this place? It's barren. Cuff her and we'll wait until she wakes up. Then we'll question her.** " he replies curtly, answering both questions in one breath. At the thought of having to interrogate you Oscar and Otto groan.

" **You saw that man give her the briefcase."** Oscar's complaining thinly veils his jealously. You had always been together, you and the man, every time he'd seen you. Is, or was he your boyfriend? If so, why would he so blatantly sabotage you? He summons his train of thought back to the moment and continues, **"She's clearly been here a while, it's surely just a coincidence that she's here! Must we-** "

" **Its just a precaution, Oscar. I don't _want_ her to suffer, or you two.**" Axel says, his voice low, eyeing you from the corner of his eye. " **I know you're in love, or something.** " he says, both dismissive and teasing.

Immediately Oscar gapes and shouts in protest while Otto coughs, visibly a darkening shade of red, speeding past the couch to the front door proclaiming to retrieve the bags from the truck. Axel chuckles, but can't help but feel a pit in his stomach at his actions as he chances another glance over at your face. You're serene, restful, but the corner of your mouth is drawn into a frown and the blood that outlines the perimeter of your face is hard to miss. If you don't already hate him you surely will now. If you don't already hate his brothers then he surely hopes you'll let them down easy after this. His brothers, head over heels for a woman they don't even know.


	8. Chapter 8

Trying to wake up feels like wading through thigh-deep snow; Frustrating and tiresome. You can't quite remember having fallen asleep, which makes it all the stranger. A foggy haze is all you feel for a few good moments as you begin to come around, followed by a throbbing headache. Your arms are in an uncomfortably twisted position and your chest feels heavy. As you take in a breath and stretch the fogginess in your ears clears, and you hear the muffled sound of voices- which grows into clear voices after a moment of listening. Three distinct male voices, speaking what sounds like gibberish to your confused ears. Had someone left the AM radio on? You stretch once more, letting a tired groan escape your lips. Your sleep doesn't feel at all refreshing, if anything the headache pounding in your skull makes you feel even shittier. You strain your ears and find the talking seems to have stopped. How strange-

Your eyes crack open, blurry at first, but then focus on a completely unfamiliar ceiling. You blink, once, twice, and it doesn't change. You move to sit up and find a cat curled on your chest, weighing you down. At your movement it startles awake and leaps off, scampering away beneath a table in the kitchen of the unfamiliar house. Your eyes groggily follow up the legs of the table, the legs of a human rather, trailing all the way up until you find yourself staring at none other than the Swedes. Each of their handsome faces holds a different expression, but it feels as though you've interrupted a conversation. Which brings you to the bigger question... What the _hell_ is going on?

Your eyes flick between the three of them rhythmically as you move to lift your hand. Something stops you, however, and your unrelenting stare is broken as you look down at your hands in your lap, either wrist secured in a tight fitting handcuff. Your face scrunches, twisting into hazy confusion as you continue your previous movement of prodding your throbbing temple with nimble fingers, hindered by your other hand dangling from the cuff. You hiss as your fingertips poke a particularly sore spot, and find them coated in a small amount of fresh blood when you pull your shackled hands away. Dried blood flakes off the side of your face as you snap your head towards the table again.

"You knocked me out!" you yell, the memory of being pistol-whipped unconscious by the eldest rushing back in a flood of adrenaline. You rush to your feet, but your head spinning and lightheadedness knocks you on your ass again. You take a stabling breath as your vision returns to normal. They remain silent across the room, not even so much as stirring. You feel eyes burning into your soul, whose though, you can't discern.

"I wasn't- I don't want to cause trouble." you sigh, leaning your weary head back against the musty couch. Stars still dance beneath your closed eyelids.

_Maybe you were a target after all, and you just screwed yourself over for real._

A curt laugh, more reminiscent of a bark startles you, jumping and returning your gaze to the bearish men sat around the table. It had come from the slicked hair one, his lips curled back in an amused smile. Damn never learning their names- you can only keep them straight by general appearance. Wait, why had he laughed? He stands, the smile morphing into a tight line.

"Not a target." he says lowly, his accent thick.

_You said that out loud, moron. Fuck._

Your mouth gapes as you scan his intimidating face, his stature alone enough to make you melt-

"Not a target?" you finally croak out, jostling the cuffs around your wrists, "Kidnap victim then?"

His demeanor falters, if only for the smallest fraction of a second, but long enough for you to catch the twitch of his brow and downward quirk of the corner of his mouth. His features return to stone not a millisecond later and he makes his way around the table to stand a few feet from you. The muscle of his jaw tenses as he takes a moment to examine you, looking you over from head to toe, his deep blue eyes scrutinizing every disheveled inch of you.

"I did what was necessary." he finally replies before turning on his heel and walking a lap around the table. You continue to watch him, dumbfounded, from your spot on the uncomfortable couch. The other two sit at the table, avoiding eye contact altogether now. The taller man stares down at his folded hands, his hair obscuring most of his face, while the other slumps far down in the wooden chair, his legs stretched out lazily beneath the table. They both have a strange red tint to their light hair, and is seems to continue down onto their faces, skin scrubbed raw and somewhat clean. What could have possibly caused that-

"What is your name?"

The questions catches you off guard and you flounder, tearing your eyes from two at the table to return to the... leader? You're finished with this adjective game.

"Only if you tell me yours first. All of yours." It comes out harsher than intended, but seems to surprise all three. Whether that's good or not you can't tell. You catch the shorter man eyeing you from his seat and you squint right back at him.

Again comes that same huffing half-laugh as the man says something unrecognizable to his brothers, a small grin tugging at his lips. They look up at him, each responding in turn. He shrugs, stretching the muscles in his right wrist, cracking his knuckles absentmindedly. He leans forward, placing his palms flat on the table to lean his weight on stiff arms.

"Oscar," He nods to the shorter man, who turns his head and grins at you.

"Otto" He then nods to the beast of a man, who timidly glances at you, waving his fingers in a brief hello.

"And I'm Axel." he pauses before adding a sly, "Satisfied, _princess_?"

The youngest-looking, Oscar, chokes on a laugh, barely suppressing it as his nostrils flare and mouth forms a tight line, clearly amused by his brother's quip. You squint at him, though are indeed satisfied enough to overlook the comment. Axel, Oscar, Otto. So those are their names. Somehow fitting, you suppose.

"Y/n." you say shortly, finally giving them their answer after a moment. You would have crossed your arms if not for your restraints keeping your hands idle in your lap.

You catch Oscar glancing across the table at Otto, the two clearly communicating something as a small grin spits across his face. Even obscured by a curtain of hair you can see a small smile on Otto's lips as well.

_Take a picture, it'll last longer, boys._

You bite your inner cheek to prevent yourself from saying anything stupid. Not like you haven't already. Embarrassing, may be the better word. Maybe you're looking far too much into the subdued chuckles and smiles.

Your attention is drawn to a cat nuzzling against your shin. Looking down, you're pleasantly surprised to find it's the little one from the bush. Your face lights up and you reach down to pick it up, holding it tenderly in your lap, cooing at it.

"Are these your cats? You need to feed them better." you say against its fur, gently scratching it behind the ears. You don't look up when you hear a long exhale.

"Why were you following us?" comes Axel's voice again, returning to the subject. You feel yourself hugging the cat a bit tighter.

You shrug, still not taking your eyes off a point on the floor in the far corner of the room. The lot of you sit in silence for what seems like eons, only the meowing of at least a dozen cats to fill the awkward silence. They don't seem to have a problem with it, but it feels like a rock in your stomach.

"Fine, don't answer." Axel says lowly. You can practically hear his jaw tensing.

Something heavy drags against wood and look up to see him reaching for the pistol in the center of the table. You tense and the cat instinctively leaps off your lap. You sit straight, watching his hand with subdued worry as he lets it go. When he steps away from the table you sigh, your muscles still tense and the pain in your temple shooting behind your eye.

“No! Listen, I’m not...” you grimace at the words that form on your tongue. “I just... I want my old job back. I thought you might be able to help.” you croak, shrinking under their gazes.

“I figured you’d wouldn’t but it was worth a shot.” Your voice is barely above a whisper now, but a bitter chuckle punctuates your sentence.

There's a pause, an awkward silence following your strangely personal confession. You watch your hands, examining the cuffs and any way you can slip out of them. Clearly there aren't any other ways besides dislocating your thumbs or using the key. Why are they so fucking quiet? There's a rustling of fabric and someone clears their throat, undoubtedly planning your demise.

"You're fired. There was an announcement." Oscar finally speaks, breaking what already feels like the millionth silence. "After you..." he imitates the sound of the briefcase, wiggling his fingers along with the whooshing sound he makes.

_Fired. Figures._

You bite your lip hard, choking down a slew of curses, slowly shaking your head as a disbelieving huff leaves your nose. You knew it, deep down. You did. There was no way you would realistically get back to the Commission, other than with the body disposal unit- playing the part of the body being disposed. A pang of emptiness twists your stomach, makes your hands tingle, your feet numb.

_Fired. Fuck._

This is it, you'll live your life as a stockroom employee and never go anywhere. Maybe if you're lucky you'll live to see that 2019 apocalypse. Your clamped shut eyes and nose prickle at the sensation of tears, but they don't come. You don't want to move. If sitting on this musty couch forever means avoiding the two possible outcomes of this situation then so be it. Still, you feel the presence of the Swedes, just across the room, no doubt preparing to-

Your hands are pulled upward by the handcuff chain and your eyes shoot open. Oscar stands over you, holding the chain in one hand and fiddling with the cuff key with the other. How do they walk so light on their feet for such big men? There's no end to the surprises today, you point out, staring up at his concentrated face with furrowed brows.

His tongue pokes out from between his full lips just barely, and his electric eyes are focused solely on the key as he fumbles to unlock the shackle on your left hand. You would dare to say he's avoiding your gaze. You hate to admit it, squinting up at him in the dead silence, but he is gorgeously handsome. You already knew it before, he's a heartthrob amongst the office workers, despite never interacting with them at all, but you can _really_ see why now, up close and personal. His boyish good looks don't distract you from the clear blood spatter on the collar of his shirt though, nor what you've deduced to be similar bloodstains scrubbed off his face and in his platinum hair.

There's a click and he steps away, dropping your hands, one now freed. One is good. One is enough. You stretch your wrist, and rub the tender circlet dug into your skin, only taking your eyes off of Oscar when he refuses to look you in the eyes. Instead you return your attention to the table where Axel and Otto remain.

"Why?"

It's a simple question, a statement of genuine confusion, but appreciation leeches into your gravely voice regardless.

"I told them I wouldn't kill you," Axel says, tone low and even mildly threatening, "But pull anything and you're a dead woman."

_Yep, definitely threatening._

"Thank you, then."

Just as you're about to speak again, ask what's to happen next, an odd whooshing noise and clattering of metal rings out from somewhere in the house. Without missing a beat Axel strides over to the stove, opening a cabinet above it. He pulls out... A tube? Ah, so that's how field agents received messages- you had always wondered about that. His brothers make their way over, peering at the note he unfurls. Even after having seen him countless times, even up close, you're still stunned by Otto's height, and can't help but stare as he towers over his brothers. He's handsome as well, and you're sure you're damned for thinking it, the feeling of embarrassed guilt bubbling up inside you. No doubt feeling your focus lingering on him, his eyes flick up to meet yours though only for a moment before he returns to staring at the paper, face almost instantly turning a deep shade of red.

Your gaze trails down to Axel's stern face, brows furrowed as he reads, squinting at the paper in his gloved hands. He shuffles the paper and holds up what looks like a photograph. He squints at it too, before turning it to face you, still on the couch. Your perplexity must be visible because he turns the photo back to himself and hands the papers off to Oscar.

"You come with us." he states as he walks past, heading down the hall.

"I- What?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for no updates in a few days, hope you enjoy the double upload, though. It'll get better from here I promise!!


	9. Chapter 9

You hadn't even realized it was yet again night out until you'd stepped out the front door, trailing behind Axel and Oscar, in front of Otto, who you hear shut the door behind you. You slept an entire day and didn't even feel rested. If anything you feel worse than you have in years, your head still throbbing an unbelievable amount. You had managed to swindle you way into rooting through the medicine cabinet, though only under the watchful eye of Axel, of course. You found decently strong painkillers in there and took one, though so far it hasn't kicked in yet.

You squeeze your eyes shut in hopes to dampen the headache if only for a moment, but the moment is ruined by the toe of your shoe catching on the curb. The momentum of your misplaced step makes you stumble forward. Before you can cause any further head injuries to yourself a large hand grips your upper arm, stabling you and pulling you upright again. The throbbing behind your eyes feels somehow lessened as you look up at Otto, who keeps his gaze forward. He doesn't say anything about your stumble, the gentleman. His hand remains on your arm though, gently leading you to the truck across the street. Despite the dark you can see his lips in a tight line, a pensive look on his face.

He's barely met your eyes in the minuscule amount of time you've been in each other's company. You wouldn't have assumed him to be the shy type, but you'd never really interacted before... not enough to know in any case. Just from general knowledge and Commission gossip you know him to be the quietest of the three, but _shy?_ That was a curveball. Maybe you're just misreading the situation, as usual it seems.

"Thanks," you say quietly as you arrive at the back of the truck, "For catching me, I mean."

He gives a curt nod, his Adam's apple noticeably bobbing as he swallows, opening the door for you but still not meeting your gaze. You smile warmly in response, patting him on the jacketed arm before climbing up into the truck, sidestepping both full and empty milk bottles. There aren't any seats in the back besides an upturned crate, so you hunker down on the cold floor, crossing your legs and leaning your head back against the hard metal side. Someone else climbs in and the back door shuts, followed by the rocking of the truck as two more bodies get in on either side up front, their doors shutting as well. Someone settles across from you as the truck rumbles to life, and you crack an eye open to peer over. Oscar mimics your position, cross legged, his hands folded in his lap, a small smile on his face. He's slightly bent forward at the waist, watching out the windshield as Axel pulls away from the curb. A pile of duffel bags lay beside him, or perhaps one duffel and multiple smaller bags? You can't tell in the low light. The stray bottles roll around the back and clink together every so often.

"Why are you bringing me with you?" you ask, leaning forward as well to get a better look at Axel's face. Even in the dark you can make out his side profile- attractively prominent nose and pursed lips illuminated only by the moon. No headlights tonight.

He takes a while to respond, barely even stirring. You wonder for a moment if he heard you, but brush that thought away. Of course he heard you.

"You wanted a mission, now you're on one. Don't complain." he says lowly and shortly, quickly glancing over at Otto who only shrugs.

You can accept that answer. A part of you thinks it's partially to keep an eye on you though, rather than a friendly gesture. You lean your head back against the side again, closing your eyes. Your headache seems less intense now, which you're undyingly thankful for. The dried blood caked on the side of your face doesn't feel particularly nice however, and you pick at it absentmindedly.

You feel something poke your shin, but ignore it, thinking it's just something jostling around. It happens again and your eyes open, curiously looking across the way. Oscar sits, leaned far forward towards you, index finger extended to poke your leg again. Even in the dark you can see the shimmering of his bright blue eyes peering up at you from under the low brim of a silly milkman cap, that smile that seems ever-present, even the shadow of stubble. Wow, he's leaning close, isn't he?

"Can I help you?" you ask, keeping your voice quiet. Even still Axel passes a glance over his shoulder at you.

"Why did you steal a briefcase?" he asks, tilting his head up to get a better look at you from under the brim. You lift your hand and knock it upwards with a crooked finger, tousling his hair while also broadening his field of view. He gives you a mischievous look, and rests his chin on his palm. You can't help but notice his brothers perk up at the question in the front seats, they too curious.

"It wasn't my idea. I was backing out of it when you showed up." You cross your arms over your chest, the metal of the cuff still on your wrist cold even through your sweater. You hadn't thought to request it be fallen taken off, lest they feel threatened. Oscar quirks an eyebrow and silently encourages you to go on.

"Tommy, the guy, he stole someone's keycard and dragged me with him up to the storage room. He had it all planned. Said it would help me when I apply for a promotion to fieldwork." You tilt your head back and sigh, scanning the shadowed ceiling. "He lied, obviously. He never liked me, I guess it was his way of getting rid of the competition, though I don't see how I was competition-"

You're interrupted by Oscar swiftly removing his hat by the brim, sharply hitting it against Otto's shoulder a few times with what looks like elation.

" _Inte hennes pojkvän!_ " he shouts, to the disgruntlement of his brothers. Otto swats him away, hissing something at him.

You look between the two in confused amusement at not understanding the interaction. What strange fellows. Oscar returns the cap to his platinum head, grinning wide enough for you to see his perfectly straight teeth gleam in the moonlight. You tilt your head, as if to ask what that was about but he waves his hand dismissively, returning to his former position.

"How long has it been?" he asks through a smile, his chin once against resting in his palm.

"Since then?"

He nods and you nibble at the inside of your cheek. If there was one thing you hated, it was the passage of time.

"Four years."

"Four years!" His jaw slacks and his eyes go wide. There's a surprised grunt from the front seat but from who you can't tell. "It's been three days to us!" he cries, sitting upright.

_Three days. If only..._

"No wonder you look different..." he mutters, his eyes visibly trailing across your face then to your hair and clothes.

Before you can get a chance to ask how or even _why_ he would remember what you look like the truck pulls to a stop, abrupt enough to jostle the two of you in the back. No sooner has the truck stopped and parked does Oscar scurry out the back door, dragging the duffel with him. Not sure what else to do, you step into a crouch and follow him out, standing shoulder to shoulder with him beside the back doors. He gives you a once-over from the corner of his eye and hands Otto the heavy bag as he silently passes.

Axel appears from the other side of the truck and pulls one of the other bags to the edge of the cargo hold, beside Otto who unloads an entire arsenal from the duffel. Holding the coordinates paper in his mouth Axel scrounges through the bag, which you can now see is a decently sized backpack. After a moment he pulls out a box, which flicks on revealing itself to be a flashlight, and hands it off to Oscar, who immediately shines it in your face then at the back of Otto's fluffy head. He turns and is promptly blinded, scowling and once again swatting at Oscar. He blindly hands him a pistol, which Oscar tucks into the back of his belt, discreetly hidden under his oversized jacket.

" **We should let her have one.** " he says while eyeing you, who stands awkward and oblivious and still seeing stars from when he playfully flashed you with the light.

" **What, a loaded gun? Like hell. You're lucky I let her come at all.** " Axel grunts, shoving the bag back into the truck. " **You stop the car when it comes, Otto and I will wait in the field. She stays in the truck.** " He gestures with gun, which makes you uneasy, knowing full-well it's loaded. Oscar shrugs and walks around you to the other side of the truck.

"Stay in the truck. Driver's seat." Axel says to you, taking you by the elbow and leading you to the driver's side door.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" you ask, climbing into the seat when he opens the door for you.

"Turn on the lights, stay quiet." he says, shutting the door.

He lingers, watching you from below the open window of the truck, his mind racing with a million things to say. He had most certainly been far too harsh, the blood caked on your temple says as much, but yet... You look down at him, curious and exceedingly kind eyes waiting for him to speak again, soft lips turned upward in a small smile. This can't be happening. He calls his brothers ridiculous for taking a liking to you, but the thrum of his weary heart in his very own chest is hypocrisy at its finest.

"Don't drive off." he says gruffly, pushing away from the door.

As he walks around to the back of the truck again, the small _"oh, okay"_ that he hears slip from your lips before you turn the keys in the ignition is enough to make his heart plummet. The headlights flicker on and illuminate Oscar waving to you from a few paces down the road. He flicks the flashlight on and off at you and you respond by flashing the high-beams a few times. Your bubbling laughter echoing from the open window is enough to stop them all in their tracks, particularly Otto, who freezes stock-still. He inhales deeply, his broad chest expanding and staying that way as he holds a pensive breath, turning to briskly flee to the edge of the corn crops.

Braving one last look at your face in the side-view mirror, Axel shuts the back doors of the truck and jogs down to stand beside his brother in the grass. Both grip their weaponry, holding their guns close in anticipation. They watch the youngest meander back to the hood of the truck where he leans against the grill, impatiently waiting for the target to arrive.

" **We shouldn't keep her captive. It's not right.** " Otto mutters, his stormy eyes drawn once again to your obscured outline in the driver's seat.

" **We're not. It's just a precaution.** " Axel replies, equally hushed. " **She can go about her life when we finish the mission. Until then she stays within our line of sight.** " he continues, hoping to fill in the previous hollow statement.

" **She can't come back to the Commission.** " the taller man says, his expression somber, " **Do you think she's happy here?** " There's a rustling of the corn stalks as Axel readjusts his footing.

" **I'm no good at reading people.** " he chuckles lowly, before clearing his throat and returning to his mission demeanor. " **This isn't the time. Hush and keep an eye out.** "

Back at the truck you stare at the back of Oscar's platinum head, watching him toss his hat up in the air and effortlessly catch it over and over. You fiddle with the keychain of a Hawaiian dancer that dangles from the keys stuck in the ignition. Curious and bored, and finally momentarily free of your headache, you lean out the window and _psst_ at the man leaned against the front of the truck.

"Hey, I have a question." you gently call, careful to keep your voice down. He hums in acknowledgement, but doesn't turn.

"You guys are brothers right?" Stupid, obvious question, but a conversation starter.

"Triplets," comes the reply, him still not turning to face you. The answer actually catches you off guard and you can't help but pry.

"Really? You don't look like it..."

"It's complicated." he shrugs, acting passive though you can clearly hear through his inflections that he's smiling. You let out an incredulous snort.

"How complicated ca-"

You're quieted by him holding up his hand and pushing off the truck, returning the hat to his head. In the distance a pair of headlights crests a hill, a car emerging from the night. You sink into the seat, disappearing into the shroud of shadow, watching Oscar walk out into the middle of the road, flashlight gripped in his left hand. He raises his right hand in a beckoning wave, putting on a show as though the truck broke down. Now whose idea had that been? You hadn't heard them discuss it, in English at any rate. It's devilishly smart, either way.

The car slows as he continues to shine the light at it, lowering his hand as it pulls to a stop a few yards from him. He begins to walk towards the driver's side, free hand inconspicuously reaching for the pistol tucked in his trousers. His fingers curl around the gun grip, index resting directly above the trigger. Just as your eyes wander from him to look for his brothers, they emerge from the crop, toting heavy-duty machine guns. You're not the only one to notice them as the car screeches into motion and fishtails. You jump in your seat at the sound of the trio open firing at the fleeing car, windows audibly shattering as it careens away. In the mirror you watch it slip off the shoulder and into the crops, the driver frantically leaping out and bolting for the cover of the corn stalks.

"Stay there!" Axel shouts as the three stalk past the truck, eyes lingering on you hanging out of the driver's side window.

It comes out of your mouth before you have time to object to the words; "Be careful!" you shout back, earning three preoccupied but surprised glances in return.

_Yikes._

You cringe at you own words, wishing to melt into the car seat. Some strange, foreign part of you _does_ want them to be safe- can't bear to think of them getting hurt, having already grown unexpectedly fond of them. The logical part of you begs you to think rationally, get your head out of the clouds and realize how much danger you're in, even just being in the presence of such skilled, powerful, and ruthless assassins. Your insides flutter at that thought despite your logic practically rioting. You feel like you can't take a breath, your head swimming. The headache prickles at your eyes and you squeeze them shut, willing it to go away.

A roar of gunfire from in the field jolts you to your senses and you spin in the seat, leaning out the window to squint out into the darkness. Every few seconds a burst of yellow-white light erupts from somewhere in the rows, never in one place. Each burst of light is accompanied by the racket of rapid-fire. Then there's nothing for a moment, and you find yourself leaning further out the window. Had they injured the target? Killed them?

A single shot echos from the crops, then another flash. This one is blue. It doesn't go away either. You watch in shock as it grows bigger and brighter, the blue hue pulsating and undulating, until like a bubble it bursts. The shockwave it produces thunders outwards in a visible dome, flattening the corn rows and rocking the truck. The windows rattle as it passes over and you duck your head between your knees, fearing the windshield may break. It's gone in a matter of seconds and you release a shaking breath, only lifting your head when you hear nothing for nearly two minutes.

Sitting up straight, you turn to look out the window, your nerves buzzing with anxiety. Your eyes follow the line of the road and fall upon the field, focusing on what looks exactly like a crop circle, massacred stalks scattered all the way to the road. You find yourself pulling the handle and tumbling out the door faster than you can process, your quick feet taking enormous strides in the direction of the energy burst.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A day late, sorry about that, had to finish with finals 🙄. Things will be picking up from here!! Hope you enjoy.


	10. Chapter 10

The leaves of still-standing corn stalks sharply slap against your form as you shoulder your way through the rows. The sharp edges of the adult leaves slice at your exposed skin, and get caught on the fibers of your clothes. You tear through, taking swipes at the plants until you burst out into an open area. Perfectly circular with a crater at the center. The flattened stalks under your shoes crunch as you sprint across the clearing, having caught sight of a vague outline in the moonlight at the opposite end, just barely hidden behind the line of intact corn rows. You can only hope it isn't the target as you slow to a jog.

_What the fuck caused this?_

You drop to your knees behind the figure, the abruptness of the movement causing the leaves to slice at your bare knees. Even under the pall of shadow you can tell the body is Otto's and sigh. You gently tug his shoulder, rolling his heavy form onto his back. For a moment he's dreadfully still, his arm falling limply beside his body. You rise on your knees, panic welling up in you.

_Is he dead? Oh God._

Your hands clasp together, knuckles pressed tightly to your lips, your eyes wide as you stare down at him. His face then twists in pain and he groans, low and throaty. Not dead, thank the heavens. You heave a sigh of relief and settle back down as he stirs, groaning again.

"Hey, you're okay." you reassure quietly, one hand on his forearm and the other on his shoulder.

His eyes slowly open and take a moment to recognize on his surroundings before tilting his head towards you, bewildered surprise crossing his features at the sight of you leaning over him. To his dazed and unfocused eyes the bright stars seem to form a crown on your head and in a momentary lapse of sense he melts into a contented smile. You smile back, pleased at his first real acknowledgement of you. Even in the frenzy you're unable to tear your eyes from the shallow dimples that form on his cheeks, having not realized he had them at all.

"Come on, let's sit up." you suggest, squeezing his shoulder and gently pulling on his arm in an encouraging effort. His entranced smile fades and instead his brow knits.

There's a rustling to your far left. Despite your attention turned towards the noise you help gently guide him into a sitting position. He wheezes and one of his large hands flies to his side, prodding at his sore ribs. Still hearing the rustling you give his hand a squeeze and assure him you'll be right back. In response he opens his mouth to meekly protest but is already too late, watching you jog across the slick plant debris.

You slide to a stop, clumsily crashing through a row, calling out for whoever was making the ruckus. There comes a groan and breaking of stalks and you still, waiting to see who will emerge.

"Y/n?" Oscar's groggy voice calls out. Your breath comes out in a shaky sigh and stand on your tiptoes to try and get a better look. It's no use though, the plants tower far over you, and you doubt even Otto could see over them.

"I'm here, follow my voice." you reply, raising your pitch. You walk backwards, continually calling for him, luring him back to the clearing until finally he steps out. He sighs upon seeing you and his brother, still sprawled halfway across the open area.

You wave him over and he complies, shuffling sluggishly to your side. In one hand he clutches his hat, in the other the a rifle. Where he got it you have no idea, but haven't the energy to question it. The pair of you walk over to Otto and hoist him to his feet, careful to not exacerbate any potential injuries.

You hold an arm out to him, offering it to him to brace himself, clearly unsteady on his feet. His eyes dart to Oscar, who busies himself with searching for the missing tommy gun. Finally the man returns his gaze to you and your endearingly kind expression. He hesitantly takes your arm, tucking it in the crook of his own. He's thankful for the dark or else you'd surely see his face ablaze. He leans on you but not nearly his full weight, instead opting to suck in air through his teeth and take the sharp pain that shoots through his side. You squeeze his arm tighter at the sound.

A flashlight beam shines up into the sky from the opposite end of the clearing and what follows is an aggressive series of crashes through the rows. Otto feels your fingers tighten around his forearm and fixes his eyes down at the back of your head. When the figure breaks through the enormous plants your grip loosens, though he finds himself missing the comforting pressure through the sleeve of his trench coat.

" **Where is Oscar?** " Axel calls from across the way, one hand slipped under his jacked to cradle his side, the other tightly gripping the machine gun and mounted flashlight.

Oscar emerges from in the rows waving to him, both guns tucked under his arm. He had found the other one you assume. Axel eyes you arm in arm with his brother as he comes to a weary stop beside you.

"You'll let me check your injuries when we get back?" Your statement is both a question and a demand, and it catches them off guard. "Office workers had to pass basic medical too. You all look pretty banged up." you add quietly, your eyes following Axel's hand into his jacket. In response it slips from his beneath the jacket and hangs loosely at his side.

"What the hell happened anyway? I've never seen anything like that." you ask, watching him walk a few paces away, chin raised and scanning for something with every sense.

"The target was... unpredictable." he mutters a response, turning back to face the three of you. "Go back to the truck." he says through gritted teeth, motioning back towards the road with the barrel of his gun.

Oscar takes the lead, seemingly the least injured of them, followed by yourself and Otto. He detangles his arm from yours after receiving a mildly contemptuous look from Axel. You let him walk on his own, though keep a grip on the back of his sleeve, wary of every wheeze that rattles from him. Axel trails behind, casing the clearing with the flickering flashlight.

You're relieved when you finally return to the truck, though you take note of the pained groan that comes from Axel as he climbs into the drivers seat. The truck rumbles to life and u-turns, heading back in the direction of the house. You settle in the back, this time with Otto scrunched up across from you rather than Oscar. His tremendously long legs are splayed out down the length of the cargo hold. He seems distracted, distant, wincing every time the tires hit a bump or pothole. You reach out for his hand rested idly on his thigh and curl your fingers around it. Immediately you feel him- _see_ him tense, his eyes as wide as saucers following your hand on top of his up your arm and finally to your face. His brow twitches and the corner of his mouth pulls taught, but he doesn't move his hand away. Instead he closes his hand, his thumb gently pinning your fingers.

You can't hide the smile that forms as he reciprocates, looking away shyly to watch out the windshield. He wonders if you can feel his heartbeat through the pulse of his hand, use your bewitchment to hear his mind racing. The question at the forefront of his mind is why you would show kindness to _him_ of all people. He had seen the color drain from your face and the fear in your eyes in that hallway. Had it truly been that long of four years for you forget your fear? His heart aches at the thought and he almost withdraws his hand. Almost.

Again his eyes trail down to your smaller hand covering his, the glint of metal around your wrist yet another painful reminder that they did not in any regards deserve to be near you. So tender and sweet and far too good for fieldwork or them to taint. His eyes trail up to your face again, the dim light catching something else he hadn't noticed before. Thin stripes of red criss-cross your soft cheeks, and looking down, he finds more on your hands and legs.

"You are... hurt..." he says, barely above a whisper. Are those really his first words to you?

You look surprised, but your free hand raises to probe at the cut on your temple. He shakes his head, his hair slipping from behind his ear. Without thinking he reaches out and traces his calloused fingers along one of the longer cuts on your cheek. His eyes flutter at the feeling of your soft skin against the pads of his fingers, the warmth of a hot flash washing over him. He quickly retracts his hand before his mind can run away from him to places it shouldn't. God knows how something as simple as a brush of skin could get him riled up- He clears his throat and slips his other hand from yours, instead burying his wandering hands in his coat pockets and looking off in a random direction, ashamed of having even considered the thought.

Your fingers replace his on your cheek, though the sensation of his lingers long after they're gone. Your mind finally registers the stinging sensation of thin cuts, almost reminiscent of the paper-cuts you would so often get at the office. They pepper your face and knuckles and knees, all from haphazardly crashing through the rows upon rows of grown barbed corn stalks.

"Oh, I'm fine, just scratches. I'm more worried about you three." you softly reply, nestling your hands in your lap.

You doubt his gesture was anything other than simply bringing your attention to your mild injuries, but can't control it when your face heats at the brief memory of his touch.

_You're being ridiculous, get over yourself._

The rest of the ride back is quiet, save for the occasional grunt after being jostled. They're definitely in a bad way, Oscar having barely been spared, probably the furthest away from the blast. Axel on the other hand is in the worst shape, holding himself upright stiffly, every muscle taught. He doesn't do a very good job of veiling his pained expression either, which is why when you arrive back to the house you immediately go on the hunt for a med-kit, amongst any other helpful tools. Oscar trails behind you, curiously watching as you kick off your shoes in the foyer, walking around as if you own the place.

Your newfound determination surprises everyone- even yourself. You chalk it up to hoping someone would help you if you were in the same situation, but somewhere deep down you know different. Would this have happened to you if you went into fieldwork? Paper-cuts and blisters from new shoes you can handle, but this? The idea of fieldwork suddenly sours in your mind, and part of you realizes you'll never see your dream job in the same light again. You pause, taking a deep breath to refocus your thoughts.

_Help them. That's your job for now, whether they like it or not._

Oscar departs from your side to go deposit the bags in one of the bedrooms. As you pass into the narrow hallway you take note of the doors; there being only two bedrooms and one small bathroom. A muffled clatter comes from the room you stand outside of as Oscar squirrels away the backpacks and duffel. You decide lingering in the doorway is an unnecessary time waster and make your way to the bathroom.

The tiles are yellow and the hue feels suffocating as you root through cabinets, though nothing can top the ghastly green the rest of the house is wallpapered in. Seriously, who came up with the interior decorating styles in the 60s?

You collect all the things you can find; Painkillers, a strangely large amount of gauze, hydrogen peroxide, antiseptic cream, cotton balls, a half empty box of bandages. You're not even sure if they'll let you help as you pile them in your arms. There's no harm in trying to help you suppose.

Exiting the bathroom you pass Oscar standing in the bedroom doorway, stripped down to a plain white tank, still in his dreadfully grass-stained uniform trousers. You keep your attention focused forward- painfully, _painfully_ aware of how tightly the shirt hugs his chest and reveals his muscled arms in your periphery. God, he'd been hiding those muscles? You shush yourself internally, feeling your ears turning red as he passes out of your vision. Unbeknownst to you he had chosen his attire intentionally, his sole purpose to try an impress you. Watching your face redden and your eyes dart away from his form, strategically leaned in the doorway, he can only pridefully grin at his achievement.

You march through the adjoining living room/ kitchen, and dump the supplies out on the table. Then you turn, greeting them with a view of your sternly determined face. Oscar dawdles by the hallway, not really in need of any urgent medical assistance. He's only waiting around to watch the show, his sturdy arms crossed over his chest and a small smile on his visibly exhausted face. Axel stiffly reclines on the couch, head tilted back and arm slung over his forehead. His calculating eyes remain closed despite you, who he's ever wary of, having entered the room. He either trusts you not to do anything or he's hurting pretty bad... You assume it's the latter. Otto leans with his shoulder against the kitchen entrance pillar, eyes fixated on the hardwood floor. Everything is silent as you watch the odd trio.

"Well? Who's first?" you finally ask after the silence goes on for far too long. You stand a little taller, hands held firmly on your hips. You can be just as stubborn as them, they'll see. Whether that'll be good in the long run for your overall safety you have no idea.

No one answers. Axel's arm slides down to lay over his eyes and Otto shifts his weight. The cats are the only ones to make any noise as they mill about. Finally, Oscar snorts from where he stands in the hallway, looking between his brothers.

"I am." He grins, uncrossing his arms to burrow his hands deep in his pockets, taking long strides towards you. Axel lifts his arm slightly and cracks an eye open to watch him pass, though his expression remains otherwise passive.

"Cooperation, boys. That's the ticket." you comment, turning to Oscar as he pulls out one of the chairs and sits himself down.

" _Ja_ , Cooperation..." he mirrors, smirking up at Otto who fidgets in response.

The youngest's eyes discreetly follow your form in front of him as you organize the supplies on the table, greedily lingering on your waist, beautifully accentuated by your full skirt. It takes everything in him not to reach out and grab you- to not pull you into his lap right then and there. You pass around the back of his chair, chilly fingers absentmindedly brushing his shoulder as you circle behind him, sending a shiver up his spine. You carefully inspect for any visible injury, focusing on his flanks and back where his brothers seem to be injured. Just as you had suspected there's nothing but a bit of a scrape on his upper back, just below the nape of his neck. Regardless, you retrieve a cotton ball and pop open the lid of the peroxide bottle. Oscar, no longer having you to lay his eyes on, looks up at Otto who is watching you work _much_ less discreetly.

" **Sad you can't have her all to yourself, poor Otto?** " Oscar jests, leaning towards him with a pout. Otto glares at him, setting his jaw, his eyes nervously darting to you again as if worrying you would understand. " **I saw you two holding hands in the backseat. How cute is that? Bet you wanna do more than that-** " he adds, his cheshire grin only growing as he continues to tease.

You glance up from your busy hands when Otto steps away from the wall, looking ready to pounce on his brother. Before Oscar can get up to challenge him, which he was already visibly preparing to do, you lay your hand on his shoulder and sit him back down, pressing the damp cotton ball to the scuff on his back. He hisses and nearly pulls away, clearly not expecting for you to have pressed the antiseptic into the sensitive scratch that harshly.

" **Looks like she doesn't like you.** " Otto mocks, narrowed eyes staring daggers at Oscar who continues to squirm under your hand.

" **Will you two give it a rest!** " Axel shouts from his spot on the couch. You jump at the unexpected volume, your grip on Oscar's exposed shoulder tightening for a moment. Despite the sting on his back and his brother's reprimand he feels his insides clench at your warm touch.

Axel stands, biting back a groan as he does so, before squaring his broad shoulders and giving his brothers a scolding look. His gaze briefly grazes your startled face and his fists clutch at your visible reaction to his outburst.

" **Have either of you even stopped to consider how _she_ feels? About you- about us, or any of this?**" His volume lowers, the smallest twinge of hurt seeping into his austere voice. " **Leave her be and go to bed.** "

He turns stiffly, shaking his head as he disappears down the hall. You silently watch Otto's shoulders slump, his downturned gaze flicking up to you once before hiding behind a curtain of hair. Oscar's shoulder feels tense under your palm and you realize you haven't removed your hand yet. You pull your hands to your abdomen, folding them against your stomach, muttering some incoherent nonsense under your breath in apology. Oscar clears his throat and stands, returning his hands to his pockets.

"Thank you." he mutters, awkwardly sidestepping the table.

You nod, giving him a small, concerned smile. You look to Otto then, your brows arching. What had Axel said said to them?

"Otto," you begin, hoping he too won't disappear without letting you check on him like Axel had. "Do you want me to..." you trail off when he shakes his head vigorously, not even waiting for you to finish.

You can't help but feel a bit disappointed- rejected even- at what feels like neither he nor Axel trusting you. A ridiculous notion for someone in your position to have, but an involuntary thought nonetheless. He clears his throat and mumbles a nearly inaudible " _good night_ ", following in Axel's footsteps in retreat to the bedrooms.

You poke at the supplies on the table, trying your very hardest to conceal a dejected look from the remaining Swede. His hand on your shoulder draws your attention and you tilt your head.

"I'll take the couch." he offers, his eyes surprisingly soft. You shift to face him and his hand slips from your shoulder.

"No, you need a better rest than I do. I think I'll stay up a little longer anyway." you reply. When his brows furrow and he parts his lips to protest you shush him, turning him by the shoulders and gently urging him towards the hall.

"Don't worry about me. Sleep well, Oscar."

He pauses to look over his shoulder, as if one last look would change your mind. He's too tired to argue. Too drained from spending every moment thinking about you to fight against you. He finally nods and quietly slinks off down the hall, a few cats curiously trailing behind him.

When you finally hear the creaking of a mattress you sigh, shoulders slouching. A noise interrupts the heavy silence and you recognize it to be your stomach growling. It then dawns on you that you haven't eaten since you left your house. You haven't changed or showered since then either, come to think of it. A pang of guilt shoots through you at the though of Mrs. O'Neil looking for you, worrying about where you've gone. It twists your stomach and makes your hands tingle.

_You'll be going back soon, just see where this leads._

As you rummage through the cabinets for a snack you reminisce on the varying emotions you've felt in such a short amount of time today. Exhilaration stands at the forefront of your mind when you try to list them. Exhilaration and what... _Longing?_

You sit yourself down at the cluttered kitchen table, a bowl of stale cereal placed down in front of you. It's all you could find that wasn't rooted through by the cats or too involved to make. Whoever lived here before was not a very attentive tenant. You'd realized it before, but now having a moment to look around in peace, the state of disrepair and disarray is unbelievable. There have to be more than a dozen cats droning about, at least one on every piece of living room furniture.

You heave a sigh and sit back in the creaky wooden chair, plopping the spoon in and out of the unappetizing cereal, developing a to-do list as your eyes rhythmically scan the room. You're simultaneously exhausted and far too awake; your eyelids heavy but your body buzzing to do something, _anything_. First on the list is finish eating, then take a shower, then see to tidy up the living room and feed the abundant cats. Maybe if you're still up before they wake you'll try to throw together breakfast out of what little the cabinets and fridge hold.

_That sounds good. Do that. Take it one step at a time, Y/n._

You rake your fingers through your tangled hair and push aside the bowl, opting to perhaps take a shower first.


	11. Chapter 11

Now granted, it's not your house, nor your responsibility- neither are they for that matter. But as you find yourself sitting at the kitchen table, freshly washed with wet hair clinging to your neck and forehead, your hands busy at work trying to remove the blood spatter from Oscar's button up and jacket, you can't help but feel a bit of pride well up in you. Not only had you managed to _not die_ , a feat within itself, but you had managed to win a small amount of trust with them. Enough to let you roam free around the house at least. The cuff that still dangles from your wrist, rather annoyingly you might add, the only reminder that your meeting had been a bumpy one.

In your shower you had successfully cleaned all the blood from yourself. You had been careful of the thin scratches that litter your face and legs, tenderly caring for the small gash at your hairline. None of them hurt much anymore, only when you poke at them, which is probably more than you can say for the triplets.

After you had showered, eaten your cereal, and tidied up the general living space, you made the executive decision to creep into the guest room. Your insides had flip-flopped at the thought, but it was to retrieve Oscar's bloodstained clothes and nothing else. You'd been extra careful not to disturb he and Otto, restlessly asleep on their small respective beds. Luckily you hadn't to searched around in the dark for long, Oscar having left his things lazily strewn over the back of a chair by the door; the stark white of the garments in the light of the hallway catching your attention immediately. The floor had creaked a few times, but it wasn't enough to disturb either of them thankfully. Sneaking around while trained assassins slumber probably hadn't been the brightest idea looking back. Hindsight is 20/20 or something like that.

But damn the stains are caked on. The peroxide you drench the pieces in only works so well, leaving a faded haze of light strawberry pink in its wake. Maybe it would come out in the wash?

"Fuck." you breathe out, resting the jacket in your lap with a tired sigh.

You haven't slept a wink, despite the ache of your heavy eyelids and the repeated yawning. Instead you stand, draping the jacket and shirt over the back of the adjacent chair. Covering your yawning mouth with the back of your hand, your glassy eyes sluggishly looking to the clock, which reads 4:45. Still a few good hours before sunrise.

You settle on the musty couch, cautious of the flecks of blood on the leg and the side-table, even bits on the floor you had missed when furiously scrubbing earlier that night. You couldn't stand to stare at them anymore, the dread of it clenching your heart hard enough to drive you to clean it. A cat settles in your lap, your woolen skirt saturated with enough cat hair now to potentially make a duplicate. You chuckle at the thought, leaning your head on your fist and using the other to stroke the white pelt of your little friend, the same scrawny one from the street. You feel your vision blur and your head tilt. Maybe a nap wouldn't hurt after all... Before you can even consider otherwise you're out like a light yet again, sleeping upright with the cat resting in your lap.

You wake with a groggy start at the sound of the shower running, looking around the living room in a daze. The morning sun shines high through the curtains behind you, having been opened by someone other than yourself, and the little cat still sleeps in your lap. Lifting your cheek from your hand the sting of a tender scratch makes you wince. Your cheek is sore from having perched on your knuckles for hours. The cat stirs when you shift, waking and jumping away in a hurry. You yawn and stand to stretch, groaning at the stiffness in your back from having slept sitting upright. Your spine crackles and brings a satisfactory relief.

"Sleepyhead." A tired and hoarse, but equally playful voice comes from the kitchen table. Your legs turn to jelly at the sound of it.

_Oh God, don't turn around. Don't look at him._

You turn around. You look at him. How could you resist?

Oscar wiggles his fingers at you, leaned over the table with knife in hand, picking at the wood of it. His white-blond hair is mussed from sleep, sticking out every-which way. He watches from under a heavy brow as you stroll into the kitchen past him. Maybe if you ignore him he'll go away? But you don't want him to go now do you? Opening the fridge you absently stare at its contents for what feels like the millionth time today. You feel like you're on autopilot, pulling a carton of pulpy orange juice from the fridge and a clean glass from the dish rack, trying your best to ignore the devilishly handsome man at the table behind you. It takes everything in you to keep composure. How could you _not_ when he looks so-

"What are you carving?" The words tumble out of you with no control as you lean over his shoulder, looking at what you can see of the thing scratched into the table. He slaps his free hand over it, covering it completely.

"Nothing." he mutters, swiveling his head towards you. His toothy grin falters when he finds your surprised face mere inches from his. Neither of you had expected to be so, so, _so_ close.

From this close, able to feel his hot breath against your face, you take note of every small detail of his face you hadn't noticed before. Long eyelashes bordering on blond but not-quite-there, trimmed brows, the faintest hint of a mustache on his upper lip, the sweetest faded freckles dotted across this nose.

You clear your throat, standing as straight as a board, stiffly pouring yourself a glass of juice. There's no doubt in your mind he saw how red your face turned. Even with his back turned you can see the shell of his ear just as blazing from under his hair. Maybe it's not just you after all. You awkwardly shuffle around the kitchen some more, coming to lean on the wall exactly where Otto had been the previous night. The cats mill around, having already been fed again presumably by Oscar.

"How's your back?" you ask quietly, drawing his rapt attention to you in the doorway. His eyes are distant, still focused on his little art project.

"Hmm? Oh! Fine, thanks." he mutters the last bit, going back to digging the sharp knife into the table.

"You're gonna ruin the table you know."

He shrugs. You can see the bare muscles of his bicep flex every time he digs the knife into the wood, that damn tank top fitting far too snugly over his built chest. You would be content to continue discreetly watching the show if not for the sound of the shower turning off, drawing your eyes away. Someone doesn't like taking long showers, huh?

You nurse the glass of juice in your hands, eyes fixed on a point on the floor, listening to the scraping of the knife and rustling from elsewhere in the house. You wonder what will be on the agenda today, if anything. The tube had seemed to come randomly yesterday, and you wonder if the messages are timed. You had never thought about it much on the job, always to busy filling out mind numbing paperwork to ask how it worked in detail. Your minds wanders to Tommy, the first time it's done so in a little while. If you were fired where does that leave him? Has is only been a few days for him now too? Had he been apprehended? Thrown out? _Killed?_

Your thoughts of the bastard-man-incarnate are stopped short when Axel steps into the living room. The glass definitely almost slips from your hands as your eyes trail up to him.

_Oh my God. You're kidding._

You try to convince yourself the only reason he would walk clad only in trousers and fresh from the shower is because that's what he's used to- normally not having a young woman sharing the same space. Merely an accident. But when he barely hesitates at seeing you up and awake before continuing through to the kitchen, that idea is blown out of the water. You try not to follow him with your gaze, but it's oh-so difficult as his shirtless form passes, bringing a wonderful mix of scents with him- Cedar, sandalwood, oh sweet heavens... His waist is trim and compared to the width of his shoulders you would bet money he had grown up a swimmer simply off the shape of his build. Powerful back muscles and arms and chest and-

_Oh my God he's turning around- Don't stare you idiot!_

He steps towards you and plucks the glass from your hands, his fingertips brushing against your forefinger. Even just that makes your insides coil and you stammer as he absconds with it. You gawk, unable to form coherent words of protest as he places it in the sink.

_He can't possibly be doing this on purpose can he? Maybe he's just comfortable. But why would he be comfortable when you've barely earned their trust?_

The towel slung over his shoulder doesn't conceal much, his broad back exposed to you as he bends over to rifle through the cabinets. His skin is blotched red from the hot shower, speckled with blemishes ranging from light freckles on his shoulders to white scars of varying sizes. Layered over top of it all are fresh bruises, visibly outlining the ribs and shoulder blade of his left side, deep purple and red and blue. You can only imagine how that must have felt. You wince at the thought.

"Sit down. I'll cook." he says over his shoulder, removing the folded towel from his shoulder to toss at the back of Oscar's head. "Don't ruin the table."

You had planned on making breakfast before any of them had risen, but that plan hadn't come to fruition. You don't argue with him though, grateful for the act of what seems like kindness. Clearing your throat again you shuffle over to sit across from Oscar, a good vantage point to watch the both of them.

" **Here I thought you were just being plain old mean.** " Oscar mutters through a toothy smile as he leans over the table again, continuing to cut deep gouges. His eyes flick up to scan you every so often, though you only notice half of the time, your attention mostly focused towards the extensive bruising on Axel's back.

Axel merely grunts in response, collecting things from the cabinets with a flat expression etched on his face. Oscar chuckles and shrugs before blowing the small wood chips from the area in front of him.

"Is Otto still asleep?" you ask, averting your gaze from Axel.

"No... Probably brooding." Oscar snickers, leaning forward to whisper to you, "I'm usually the last awake. They're just irritable."

Axel responds with something akin to a snarl, turning the burner on with a pop of gas and the light of a match. As if on cue there comes a slow shuffling from the room behind you. You look up to watch Otto lethargically lumber through the living room into the kitchen. He pulls out the chair between yourself and Oscar and deposits himself with a heavy thud. He lifts his fingers from the lip of the table in a gesture of acknowledgment, looking practically half asleep. The sight of his tangled and fluffy hair falling over his sleepy face tugs at your heartstrings, and your eyes trail down to watch his broad chest steadily, peacefully rise and fall beneath his threadbare cotton top. _He_ had bothered to get half-dressed, donning his endearingly high-waisted trousers and suspenders. The three are in varying states of undress and you can't help but feel a little lightheaded.

_Dear God you're hopeless._

"Good morning, Otto." you say softly, patting his hand. Yours involuntarily lingers on top of his at the feeling of his warm, rough skin beneath your fingers, but you pull away before getting too carried away. He stammers, retreating his hands off the table into his lap, visibly flushing bright red beneath his curtain of platinum hair.

" _God morgon_." he quickly mutters, bowing his head low to avoid your smothering gaze.

"What's on the agenda today?" you ask over his shoulder, sitting forward to direct your question at Axel. The man looms over the stovetop frying in multiple skillets. He shrugs without turning, shaking his groomed head.

"Haven't received a message yet." Oscar answers more clearly. You nod, still a little confused about how the messages works, but not wanting to bother them with any more mission-related questions. You should definitely have payed more attention back at the Commission.

After a beat Otto attempts to shoo Oscar's knife wielding hand away from carving at the table, giving him a warning glare. It doesn't deter him though, continuing to gouge the table relentlessly.

Axel nonchalantly waves you over, and smoothing your skirt you stand, quickly round the table to curiously stand beside him at the counter. He hands you two filled plates, utensils already perched on them. You open your mouth to remark on how fast he managed to fry eggs _and_ fish, but decide against it as he nudges you toward the table. You hadn't counted on his bare arm brushing against you as you step away though, sending a spark of warmth throughout you. God this is an indulgent dream and a helpless nightmare all in one.

Trying to ignore the warmth that blooms within you, you turn back to the table to place the plates in front of the two seated brothers. They make satisfies noises and dig in almost immediately. Otto nervously, curiously, glances over his shoulder at you only once before resuming.

"So you just... hang out until you do receive a message?" you ask curiously, hoping not to sound too suspicious as you return to Axel's side.

"Work." he replies lowly, passing you another plate before taking up residence in the fourth seat. You look down at the plate in your hands and realize it's your own. Shuffling back to your seat you mutter a quiet _"oh"_ .

"He doesn't mean _work_ , he means clean the guns." Oscar says through a mouthful, making him difficult to understand.

"Don't talk with your mouth full." Axel scolds, lightly smacking him upside the head. Oscar chokes in response and Otto chuckles softly. You too smile, a small laugh bubbling from your chest. Oscar beams at the sound, kicking Otto in the shin from under the table. He flushes and kicks back, a scowl creasing lines into his face.

"I can help you with that if you want. Clean the guns, I mean." you offer, picking at the strange combination of food on your plate. Where had he even found fish? Had they even taken the scales off? Your stomach upturns and you look away from the plate.

Axel scoffs, leaning his elbows on the table and turning his fork to point at you. You feel the tips of your ears begin to burn- At this angle you have a perfect view of his muscled chest.

" _Nej._ " Now there's a word you can finally understand. Not a surprising answer, but you pry anyway.

"Why? Because you don't trust me or because you think I'll screw it up?"

He only grunts, returning to eating, elbows still propped on the table.

"I haven't killed you yet, and you haven't killed me. _In fact_ I've been more than helpful and kind considering you pistol-whipped _and_ kidnapped me." you retort, crossing your arms and leaning far back in your chair. "I haven't even asked you to take the handcuff off. I think I've been trustworthy enough." you add, tilting your chin up in a show of defiance.

There's a horrible electric silence after that, only the sounds of Oscar awkwardly scraping at his plate and the meowing of cats for a good few minutes. It feels like hours though, and you know you're not the only one. You really aren't that bothered about your meeting circumstances at this point. If anything you realize you untimely brought it upon yourself, stalking trained and paranoid assassins like you did, foolishly expecting no repercussions. Still that doesn't mean you can't use it as a supporting argument.

"Do you even know how?" Axel finally speaks again, returning the subject to guns. With a clean plate he leans back in his chair, crossing his strong arms over his chest. You lean forward, feeling strangely demure as he stares down his long nose at you. What are these _emotions_ that plague your newfound existence?

"A bit," you reply, already feeling the heat of blush creeping from your ears into your cheeks.

You had never told anyone, it was your little secret. After the offhand comment Tommy had made about you never firing a gun, you had taken up practicing at the Commission range. Better prepared than not when time came for the promotion you had figured. It only lasted a short while though, less than a month before the incident, but still enough time. Four years is a long time, and you've no doubt lost any skill you might have gained then. Damn you'd been a good shot too.

A grunt draws you out of your thoughts and you watch Axel stand, collecting the empty plates in front of his brothers. He looks between you and your untouched plate and you shake your head, apologizing and excusing yourself softly. He shrugs and pushes it to Oscar, who digs in after giving you a gracious smirk.

"Fine. You do exactly what I say. Got it?" Axel gives you a stern look. There's something else etched into his sharp features and veiled behind his icy eyes; Just the faintest hint of intrigue as he swiftly looks your seated form up and down.

_Now stop that. You're being ridiculous. He's just suspicious, that's all._

It took a while of mulling around, continuing to clean here-and-there before anything else really happened. It had been nearly an hour after breakfast before Axel had decided to put a shirt on, both a relief and disappointment.

Finally he retrieves the firearms duffel from one of the bedrooms, dropping it on the kitchen table with an enormous thud. You startle at the sound, having been wholly distracted staring at Otto from across the room. His newly wet hair clings to his face and drips onto the collar of his dark green shirt. 

"Take your pick." Axel says, unzipping the bag. He stands over the table, barely an inch of space between your bent knee and his leg.

You watch intently as he pulls out what seems to be his preferred weapon, the strange looking automatic submachine. He looks at it with fondness for a brief moment before catching your eyes on him, instantly going blank again. While he places it on the table in front of him, barrel turned away from you, you timidly reach into the bag and remove a simple pistol. He visibly eyes you as you hold the heavy piece with cautious hands, all too aware of his suspicious observance of you.

_God what is he thinking?_

You can practically _feel_ the air around him tense as you calmly remove the magazine and place it down in front of you, vigilantly avoiding touching the trigger. He tenses even more when you work the slide, the empty chamber clicking with each cautionary pull. With the slide locked you peer into the chamber, inspecting for any hidden ammunition. When you find none jammed or concealed you return the slide. You sigh, confident there won't be any misfirings, and place the empty pistol back on the table beside its loaded magazine. You give him a tight-lipped but reassuring smile when his significantly softened gaze lingers on you. Turns out you remember more than you'd expected to have after fours years. The thought fills you with pride and a smile tugs at your lips.

He slides a stack of supplies across the table to you before taking a seat himself, wincing at what you can only assume to be the soreness in his side.

There are two tins of cleaning lubricant and solvent, as well as two small brushes and a rag, filthy and blackened from previous and extended use. He doesn't miss your nose wrinkling as you brush it off the stack of tins, the corner of his mouth almost upturning into a smile. _Almost_.

His routine is so deeply engrained that he barely has to pay attention as he begins the process, his weathered fingers taking apart the machine like second nature. Instead he watches closely as you read the labels on the tins, stalling before you have to take apart the gun.

"Do you need-"

You wave him off, shushing him as you hold the weapon out in front of you, barrel pointed toward the linoleum tile floor. After pushing the disassemble lever, you pull the trigger to unlock it. The click of the trigger causes a visible jump from Otto all the way in the living room and he turns to stare in apprehension. When nothing happens and no one dies the tension in the air eases, letting you remove the slide to place beside the magazine anxiety-free.

While you go about disassembling the rest of the pistol beside Axel who takes apart his own, Oscar emerges from his shower squeaky clean. His hair is finally back to its normal, albeit _abnormal_ platinum blonde, void of any residual blood stains. He and Otto speak Swedish in the living room, Oscar audibly taking charge of the conversation. You glance at them from the corner of your eye every so often, watching as they stand opposite of each other, Oscar having produced a knife-

You open your mouth to voice your concern as the knife flies and wedges itself in the floorboards between Otto's boots, but Axel shakes his head dismissively.

"It's their fun, leave them." he mutters, his face scrunching in concentration as he gently scrapes a fine brush around the inside of the gun barrel. You clamp your mouth shut but continue observing with twisted curiosity, the knife now in Otto's hand.

He launches it and you flinch when it lands square between the toes of Oscar's stolen oxfords. The shorter man chuckles and reaches down for it, making brief eye contact with you as he does so. Your face heats at the thought of him having caught you staring and your eyes flick away back down at the dismantled gun in your hands.

There's the whistling of the knife cutting through the air again, but the impact sound it makes sounds... funny. Not at all like the previous ones. A strangled groan causes both you and Axel to look up, greeted by the sight of Otto clutching his bleeding thigh and Oscar across from him wide-eyed and grinning mischievously.

"Oh my god, are you alright?" you yell, dumping the jumbled gun parts on the table in a hurry to stand.

Axel stands as well but stays behind at the table as you rush to his brother's side. Oscar's grin shrinks when he sees the scowl etched into Axel's features. Otto's fingers curl around the knife handle and he silently yanks it from the meat of his leg. The already dark color of his pant leg deepens as fresh blood pours from the wound, soaking a significantly sized portion of the fabric. He merely grimaces at his brother, holding the knife as if to strike back.

He freezes when your hands latch onto his bicep, demeanor spinning 180 and all but leaning into your concerned touch. He barely registers the questions hitting his ears or the pain in his leg, all his attention focused on the feeling of your hands on his arm. That is until they move, one migrating to the center of his back, guiding him to the couch where he's firmly planted beside your smaller form. He can't think, or move, or blink, or even breath as you lean over him, inspecting the shallow wound through the slice in the fabric, hovering dangerously close to him.

"I'm sorry, Y/n-" Oscar starts, surprised when you cut him off.

"You should apologize to your brother, not me!" you scold, your lovely features twisted into a frown. They're all stunned speechless.

The whooshing sound of a tube arriving breaks the tension and Oscar scurries away to Axel's side as he departs to retrieve it from the kitchen. You keep Otto seated beside you, still trying to get a good view of the stab from under the blood and two layers of cloth. It doesn't look _that_ bad from what you can see, and suppose he's dealt with worse enough to handle it by himself. Sitting back up you give him a warm smile. His eyes finally connect with yours and his face lights up like a flare.

"It's not that deep, just put some antiseptic on it and you'll be fine." you say softly, patting his forearm.

Your studious eyes wanders over his handsome face, lingering on the jagged scar that drags down across the right side of his flushed face. He quickly notices where your gaze lies and instinctively tilts his head in an effort to hide the scar from you. How many times has he hid his scar from people throughout his life you wonder. It's simply something you can't stand for and your fingers move to tilt his chin, turning him back to face you. You give him another smile before leaning forward to press a soft kiss to the scar over his cheek. It lasts a few more seconds than you had planned, but the feeling of his red-hot skin beneath your lips makes your insides melt. His trembling hand resting on your hip draws you back to reality and you pull away, feeling the prickling sensation of blush engulfing your face along. The pressure of his large hand remains on you.

You sit staring at each other for what feels like a length of _forever_ , neither of you daring to move. Your mind blanks and your heart pounds in your chest and you can only be drawn into his gravity. The nervous grip he has on your hip and his eyes flicking from your own to your lips does nothing but driving you mad, sending the butterflies in your stomach into an absolute tizzy. The only thing you can think to do is give into the draw and lean into him, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of his breath against you, feeling his nose brush yours-

"Otto!" Axel shouts from the kitchen, startling you enough to yelp and jump away. Otto's chest visibly heaves and he stares wide-eyed at you, then at the kitchen, his brothers obscured from view. He coughs into his fist and hurriedly stands, giving you one last shy glance before limping off to see what the commotion is about.

You sit in shock, biting the inside of your cheek. Was that a bad move? Did you hallucinate that entire scenario? Will he tell his brothers and have you assassinated right then and there for being so stupid? Then again, it certainly seemed like he would've reciprocated... maybe...?

_Shit!_

Your spiraling overthinking is disturbed by an empty message tube being haphazardly tossed on the couch cushion beside you. Axel walks past, holding yet another piece of yellowed paper.

"Another mission. We leave in an hour." he mutters to you, concentrated on the message as he trudges down the hall to one of the bedrooms.

You sigh and stand, headed to reassemble the abandoned pistol.

_No rest for the wicked, huh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the delay in uploading, it's been mildly crazy these past few weeks lol. Happy new year everyone, I hope you all have a safe and HEALTHY 2021! Love ya


	12. Chapter 12

Going to a party was not one of the things you had expected to be doing under these circumstances, that's for sure. But that's exactly where the message directed you all- to a mansion embassy steadily filling with guests. Axel parks the truck out on the road rather than in the roundabout with the other cars, meaning the lot of you would have to trudge through the light underbrush to get to the back entrance unnoticed. Seeing the all well-dressed guests file into the embassy from afar makes you shrink into the shadow of the truck, feeling overwhelmingly underdressed for the occasion. It's not like you'll be interacting with guests right? The whole thing feels off, especially with Otto avoiding you like the plague, sidestepping you and dodging your worried stare. Swooping in to kiss him had _definitely_ been the wrong move, but so far you're not dead yet which is always a plus. You hope he's just startles rather than genuinely avoidant. The anxious knot in your stomach doesn't reassure you any as they busily chatter and argue over whether or not to bring the guns.

_Had to screw everything up, huh? What about the other two? You gonna try and kiss them too? Boy that would be swell, why don't you go ahead and fuck yourself over even more._

Oscar's sturdy arm linking with yours startles you from your brooding, and you look over at his content expression, head facing forward. His electric eyes twinkle as he leads you off the road and into the brush. He tugs you along, his hand firmly trapping your arm with his. You blink at his sly expression, allowing him to deftly tug you along. The rustling of branches behind you alerts you to the presence of his brothers following suit. After a few more strides he breaks the silence with a chipper, almost _giddy_ tone.

"We'll get to play dress-up!" He punctuates the sentence by giving your arm a squeeze. You almost trip over your own feet at the sensation of his large hand wrapping around your arm, his warmth sending ripples up up your spine. "You know, _disguises_?" he adds at seeing your expression, no doubt a mixture of amusement at his phrasing, confusion, and embarrassment.

You chuckle and simply nod as he continues leading you along, pushing low hanging branches and brambles out of your way. There's a pink dusting over his nose but assume it's the chill in the air and avoid staring for too long, feeling blood flush your own face as well. His fair hair is messy, and it takes everything in you not to reach out to remove a small leaf that had lodged itself in his fringe. He looks heavenly with the sunlight glittering on his form through the sparse autumn leaves.

You curse yourself for having ever gotten attached. Hopelessly, tragically _attached._

Every time you feel yourself stumble, your clumsy feet tripping over something, he's there to catch you. You nearly twist your ankle on a root but he sweeps you up in time, effortlessly lifting you with his arm around your around the waist, depositing you back down on solid ground. Your face burns and you internally squeal at the grin plastered on his radiant face, still clinging to his arm as you continue forward. One of the brothers scoffs from behind you, no doubt shaking their head at the show their brother is putting on.

Even in the midst of your swooning stupor you manage to recognize how little sound they make as they stalk through the woods. Even Otto walks with light footsteps, the dry leaves barely crunching beneath any of them. And here you've been stumbling and falling, no doubt making a big enough ruckus to draw attention. With that thought you squeeze Oscar's arm and lighten your steps, practically on fire with embarrassment.

As you arrive at the back of the mansion Axel's gloved hand on your shoulder pulls you to a stop, halting Oscar alongside you. Your eyes lock on him as he slips past, a cautious finger held to his lips in a shushing motion as he eyes you right back. He creeps to the open backdoor and peeks in as Oscar gently pushes you flush against the side of the building, partially obscuring you from the door. You feel the rough siding of the building against your back and ball your fists at your sides, holding your breath as if it'll do anything to camouflage you. You nearly cough it out when you feel Oscar's arm snake around your waist, pulling you against him. His fingers press into your side and you feel him lean into you, peering over the top of your head at the door. You feel his breath against your hair, the tip of his nose brushing the crown of your head.

Axel sharply whistles from the door and jerks his head towards the inside. Oscar brakes the semi-embrace and ushers you to follow after his brother. Axel slips through the doorway, knife in hand. You step into the mansion behind him, overcome by a rush of adrenaline. Perhaps even excitement you think, trailing behind Axel like his shadow. You've only sat in the truck before, but now, _now_ you're tagging along like a fellow agent.

In no time at all the four of you are quietly making your way down foreign hallways, pausing at every door and sound of another person. Your hands are void of any weapons of your own, but considering you're sandwiched between three armed and highly-skilled assassins, the odds would undoubtedly tip in your favor.

After what feels like an eternity of scouting the place out, you find yourself standing silently in a doorway, shuffling your weight on your feet and throwing cautious glances down either end of the empty hallway. Every time you hear the chatter of voices or the footfalls of an employee your hair stands on end.

You're on watch duty. _Watch duty_. For _assassins._ Perhaps they should have thought of a better plan before deciding to raid the livery cupboard Axel had discovered. They now dawdle and scrounge through it for disguises that will suffice.

You keep your eyes on the hallway with your back to the room, both to offer them privacy and to keep yourself from ogling. Your arms are crossed firmly, attempting to quell the anxiety brewing in your gut. Potentially being discovered so early on in the mission is not high on your to-do list. Though it would help if they'd actually _tell_ you who to look you for. Why they would put _you_ on guard duty in the first place you have no idea. You tap your foot nervously on the elaborate runner rug.

Hearing Oscar manage to knock something over you chance a glance over your shoulder, catching him in the act of clumsily pulling on a pair of ill-fitting black trousers. You snap your attention back to the hall, eyes wide and ears heating. You don't dare turn around again, for fear of catching a glimpse of something even more heart stopping than Oscar's toned legs. Then you'd really be in the shit. God what a mess.

Your keen ears hone in on the sound of clumsy rustling fabric and distinctly irritated grunts that can only mean " _these clothes don't fit at all_ ". You can't stop your mind from wandering to the thought that a peak couldn't hurt.

A tap on your tense shoulder has you whirling around only to nearly bump right into Axel's chest, towering no less than a foot from you. An untied bowtie hangs around his neck, his cream colored waistcoat and black vest unbuttoned. You swallow, consciously forcing your eyes not to roam too much. In his raised hand he holds a wire hanger, on it hangs draped black fabric.

"Wear this." he says, holding it out to you. You grasp the hanger, fumbling to get a look at the garment.

"Wear _this_? Why can't I just keep wearing what I am now?" you plead, careful to keep your volume down. Oscar tuts playfully from somewhere behind Axel's broad form. Holding the dress you can plainly see it's too small, and state as much in your defense. You catch Oscar curiously lift his head to peer over Axel's shoulder at the mention of your predicament. Axel merely shrugs and turns away, helping a struggling Otto to tie his tie properly.

"Where am I supposed to change then?"

His posture goes rigid for a moment as he absorbs the question, but ultimately shrugs again, waving his free hand towards a separator screen in the corner of the small room. Oscar, now moved on to buttoning his vest, eyes it beside him, then you, a devious smirk splitting across his face.

You groan, quietly shutting the door to the room behind you as you depart the sanctuary of the doorway, slipping between Axel's broad back and Oscar, who stands dangerously close to the opaque screen.

"Pull anything and I'll feed you to the cats." you threaten as you pass him, though he responds by scrunching his nose and smiling wider.

Behind the separator, you make sure the sides touch either wall. You're just about able to peer over the top which means they undoubtedly can too. You hold the dress in your hands, making an effort to toss the hanger over the separator. You hear it thump against someone along with a surprised grunt but then nothing more.

As you hold it up you realize it certainly is a nice dress. A 60s cocktail style, black silk crepe that gathers at a the middle under a sash at the waist. You don't own anything like it at home, store-bought or handmade, and a part of you feels guilty for having to steal it from some poor employee who will undoubtedly miss it.

_Just put it on, it won't kill you. Live a little._

As you cautiously remove your sweater and skirt and fold them over the separator, you can't help but crouch, very _very_ aware of how silent the room has become. Finally, as you're gathering the dress in your arms in preparation to slip it on there comes the sound of someone's throat clearing.

"We'll be outside. Don't take too long." comes Axel's voice, audibly stilted, then follows a snicker from Oscar. There's a shuffling, then the door opens, then closes, then nothing.

You peer over the separator once again, finding the ill-lit room empty. You sigh, relieved and _definitely_ embarrassed. The opaque separator hadn't done anything to alleviate the awkwardness of standing half nude in a small room with three men you find desperately attractive. Of course you trust them not to pull anything, if you didn't you wouldn't have even considered changing, but regardless. Assassins they may be but you can't picture them being downright evil. Surely though there would be no living this one down, especially after that stunt you pulled with Otto earlier.

You wriggle into the dress, having to hold your breath to squeeze in. It's way too small, just as you'd suspected, but in a pinch it'll have to do. You pull down the hem and smooth out the front, stepping out from behind the screen to fix yourself in the full mirror. The hem sits at about mid-thigh, far higher than most of your dresses and skirts, and the neckline is a low scoop, plunging low enough for a bit of cleavage to be visible. On the owner it's probably loose, as it's surely intended to be based on the material- but on you, the thief, it hugs every curve. You take a deep breath and feel the bodice squeeze your ribs.

_Wonderful_. You roll your eyes. _This ought to be interesting_.

You roll down your socks into cuffs at the tops of your saddle shoes, not daring to try on any of the spare shoes in the cupboard. Your plain shoes look silly with the dress, but it's the thought that counts. And you doubt anyone will be looking at your shoes anyway. Hopefully no one will be looking at you at all... With one last check in the mirror you fix you hair, brushing your fingers through it to regain some semblance of a respectable hairstyle.

The stunned silence that greets you when you appear through the door is enough to stir butterflies in your stomach and make your face burn. You fiddle with the cuff that dangles haphazardly from your wrist.

Axel again breaks the silence by clearing his throat again.

"Lets go." he mutters, spinning on his heel in the direction of the kitchen. You watch him go, noting the waistcoat doing wonders to accentuate his shape-

Shaking the overwhelming thought away you instead look between Oscar and Otto, giving them a look that practically screams " _well?_ ". That does the trick, and the pair of them blink out of their stupor, flushing red and trailing behind you as you follow the leader.

" **Look-** " Oscar whispers, slapping Otto's arm. His greedy eyes scan your form, trailing over every accentuated curve.

" **I know! Shut up!** " comes the forceful response through Otto's clenched teeth, the man quickening his pace to avoid further discussion.

Even covered in healing scratches and decorated with a loose handcuff, you're still the most stunning women any of them have ever seen. Having seen the faces and figures of women spanning decades, no one rivals you.

Everything feels rushed. Quickened paces and cautious eyes as you try to act cool. They have no problem fitting in, but you lack training, lack experience in the field. You can't help but feel out of place beside them, wishing for nothing more than to have stayed with the cats. Maybe you were never meant for fieldwork...

You look over at Otto, continually fidgeting with the buttons of his waistcoat. It's an adorably pitiful sight, especially with his sleeves shortened nearly to his elbows and his hair in a particularly fluffy state.

_Poor angel._

His distracted eyes watch the crowd of guests mulling about as you dally at the mouth of the hallway into what looks like a main room. Oscar comes up from behind him, suavely balancing two trays of hor d'oeuvres on either palm. Henpasses one to Otto and wiggles his eyebrows at you, twirling in a flourish before effortlessly slipping into the crowd. You chuckle and watch him go, easily assuming the persona of a mere waiter, silently offering appetizers to the fancy folk. Otto glances at Axel positioned behind you. He reaches out and gestures to the adjacent room, motioning for him to go. Sparing one last timid look down at you he strides away, keeping to the wall with the platter held high.

You feel a hand wrap around your upper arm- not tightly, but certainly not gentle either. Goosebumps raise on your skin at the sensation of his rough hand against your bare skin. You feel warmth radiate off him, heating your cool skin in an instant.

"Act natural." His hot breath fanning your ear sends a delightful shiver up your spine.

_Fuck..._

The pair of you remain in the alcove hallway- a good vantage point for him to survey the party. Whenever someone passes too close you make yourself look busy, fiddling with things on the side-table beside you. Nothing a waitress would have any bother fiddling with, just a decorative pewter pitcher and platter set and vase of flowers beside them. You mutter curses under your breath but Axel doesn't seem to mind your fumbling with decorative items.

Your hair bristles when you notice him visibly tense, sidestepping closer to your side. You turn towards the party, trying to track where his eyes are focused. No one seems particularly out of place, except for a youngish boy, walking rather determinedly in the general direction of your side of the room. Just as you're about to ask what's wrong he grabs your arm again, pushing your back against the wall, caging you in with his own body. Your heart plummets and soars at the same time, surprised hands raising to press against his hard chest as he leans against you.

"Act _natural._ Don't look." he warns, dipping his head down to whisper in your ear. Was any of this natural?

His lips brush the shell of your ear as he speaks and you quiver, hands unconsciously gripping the lapels of his waistcoat. You keep your head down, not daring to glimpse him _or_ the target lost in the crowd. He shields you from the view of the room with his body while also hiding his own recognizable face in the crook of your neck. What must this scene look like to an onlooker? A lovers tryst? Your heart races and your grip tightens on his jacket. He smells so _nice_ , somehow like the woods on a chilly day. You practically melt on the spot.

He remains looming over you, one hand on your arm the other on the wall, dwarfing you in comparison to him and cloaking you in his shadow, strategically positioned with his face still beside yours. He denies the urge to lean in mere inches and leave kisses against your jaw, use the excuse of just playing the part. Just _acting_. It wouldn't be acting though, not as he takes the chance to glance down the front of your tight dress, watching your quick breaths making your breasts rise and fall. The dirty images that simple view conjures are nearly enough to push him over the edge- give into carnal desires and make you his, if you'd have him.

He snarls, twisting away from you to scout for the target, sweat beading on his forehead as he turns his back to you. You feel both flushed and blanched all at once. Dizzy with excitement and nerves.

_Fucking hell, what are they doing to you? This doesn't happen to real people. Get yourself together!_

No amount of steadying breaths can recover you from such an _interesting_ experience, and you doubt the image will ever be wiped from your memory. Not that you would want it to be though.

"Is the target that boy?" you rasp, scanning the room for yourself. He grunts in response.

From the mingling people emerges Oscar with the empty platter tucked under his arm, discreetly motioning in the direction the boy went. Axel nods in agreement as the shorter man approaches, a knowing grin splitting across his face at seeing you dazed and red-faced behind his brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a bad past couple days but as always my friends and mutuals were there to lift me up. Can fic chapters be dedicated to people? Idc I'm dedicating this to my pals, you know who you are ;)


	13. Chapter 13

If it were up to Axel, he'd have you forget the incident in the hallway entirely. Erase his ungentlemanly behavior from your memory completely, leaving only the knowledge of his hard exterior in its place. Embarrassment and anger at his own lack of self control pools up within him, outwardly evident by the knot of his brow and the deep red blush creeping up his neck with every passing moment. Overthinking had never been one of his character flaws, but now, now is different. Every glance at you sends shockwaves of shame up his spine. You don't meet his gaze, and that's probably the worst part for him.

You twist your fingers together, far too embarrassed to bring yourself to lock eyes with the devilishly handsome man. Your moment together had been exciting and somehow very intimate, and your brain works at a mile a minute to process how to react, even long after it had already passed. A part of you is convinced you severely misread the situation, but another is hopeful it was something else... something good at least. 

The four of you reconvened, slipping away into a back hallway to discuss the situation. They speak Swedish in hushed tones, each taking short turns talking, leaving you out of the conversation completely. Though it irks you, you don't mind that much, instead wondering why Otto seems so distracted even as he mutters responses. His attention seems distant, his head turned towards the ballroom as he stands stooped beside Axel, hands twitching at his sides. His deep blue eyes remain focused on the mouth of the room looking almost forlorn, his brothers having to wave for his attention multiple times. Both of you equally distracted from the conversation, you catch a smile ghosting his lips when the music picks up and the realization dawns on you.

_He likes the music._

The thought of him, a man of such intimidating stature and occupation, enjoying the soothing sounds of instrumental dance music brings a smile to your face. Warmth blooms in your chest and all your previous worries and embarrassments of the past day melt away. He truly is a gentle giant, in his own special way.

"We split up. Meet again upstairs in..." Axel pauses to squint at the grandfather clock down the hall, "Half an hour." he finishes, tugging at the hem of his waistcoat. Your eyes meet briefly but he looks away, missing the small, mildly apologetic smile you send in his direction. Before you can ask any further questions about the plan thus far he breaks off, returning the way you came with shoulders squared and head held at attention.

When Otto's eyes flit between the ballroom entrance and yourself you give him a confident smile, proffering your arm and tilting your head in the direction of the music. The tall man looks close to passing out, blanched paper white and frantically looking to his younger brother for aid. Oscar nudges him forward towards you and snickers, holding your gaze as he heads off in the opposite direction of Axel leaving you two alone again.

"Come on, the music will be better in there." you smile, taking his hand and looping it around your arm. "And we should stick together, I still have no experience in the field." The added excuse seems satisfactory enough as the smallest bit of tension leaves the arm that's entangled with yours.

You lead, walking arm-in-arm to the ballroom, watching from the corner of your eye how his handsome face lights up as the music gets significantly louder. You feel the intensity of the string instruments reverberate in your chest and the corners of your mouth tug into a effortless smile. Content with the volume of the soothing music his watchful eyes scan the room, lips pursed in newfound concentration. His arm remains entwined with yours and it takes a moment for him you realize you've steered him to the center of the room- the direct middle of the dance floor. The man splutters and turns every shade of red when you casually guide his hand to rest lightly on your hip, the other firmly in your own.

"This way we can- _you_ can see everyone all at once." you supply, smiling up at him with playful radiance. You know he knows that's not what you're doing, especially not after the stunt you pulled, but if telling him it's a part of the mission will calm him down than so be it.

Your free hand travels to his taut shoulder, tense and strong. The rhythm guides your feet, spinning the pair of you into a clumsy ballroom dance. He avoids looking down at your beaming and blushing face, rather scanning the crowd for familiar faces. You slip your hand higher, more towards the back of his neck, and the grip on your hip tightens as he steps on your toes. You yelp under the sudden pressure of his steel-toed boot and follow it up with a burst of laughter. Fumbling for a decent footing and semblance of dignity again he straightens, unconsciously pulling your form closer.

His face blazes red under the scrutiny of judgmental partygoers, but more-so under your gentle touch, grounding him to the ballroom floor as you dance in rhythmic circles to the flowing music. His neatly tucked hair falls from behind his ear, obscuring half of his face with white-blond tendrils. You smile wider, your grin showing off teeth and scrunching your eyes. Wriggling your hand free from his you reach to return the hair behind his ear, which is hot to the touch as you brush your fingers over it. He finally looks down at you as you grasp his hand again, slipping your other hand from his shoulder around to the base of his neck. He looks as though he could combust on the spot.

"Who are we on the lookout for?" you ask, watching his expression morph through multiple different stages of confusion. He steps on your toes again before answering.

"A young boy... A man with untidy hair... the woman with him." he mutters. His light brows furrow as he thinks about the question, searching his vernacular for any better adjectives to describe them. You nod, having already seen the boy earlier.

Another pair dancing encroaches too close as the tempo of the music changes, the man accidentally bumping against your back. Your feet catch in an off position and you stumble forward, pressing into Otto's broad chest. He stares down at you with wide eyes, his heart thumping in his chest at a mile a minute. The breath catches in his lungs when you hum contently and rest your head against his chest, continuing the dance at a painfully slow rate and not bothering to move away from him. You can hear his heart racing, sprinting to break free from its cage of bone, and smile feeling your own beating just as fast.

Not sure what else to do, he remains swaying with you, hand creeping fraction by fraction higher towards your waist. He feels faint, nervous excitement welling up in his gut and a light haziness in his head. It's almost enough for him to miss the time on the clock mounted on the wall.

He curses sharply, realizing you're both nearly late for the regrouping upstairs and will no doubt receive a scolding from Axel. _Again_. Instead of explaining the time-crunch he opts to literally sweep you off your feet, strong arm wrapping around your waist and discreetly lifting you as he takes enormous strides across the ballroom floor. You gasp, having been abruptly torn from your serene little world. You're nearly eye-to-eye with him, pinned snugly against him as he swiftly makes his way to the staircase, wasting no time by dragging you behind his gait. You knew he was strong, just by looking at him anyone could determine that much, but he holds you with one arm as if you weight nothing and you can't help but swoon. Even as he places you down on one of the steps of the staircase you cling to him, impressed and intrigued and so very attracted to him.

Realizing he'd already released you and placed you back on solid ground you retract your hands, shooting him a bashful smile and mutter apologies and thanks. A strangled noise escapes him as he clears his throat, eyes fixed to where his large hand remains on your waist. A noise from the balcony above draws your attention and you look up at Oscar, leaned over the banister.

" _Psst_ , lovebirds, come on!" he calls down in a hushed tone, cheshire grin creasing deep dimples in his cheeks. Your mouth gapes and your heart skips a beat at the playful nickname while Otto huffs beside you, flustered, pulling his hand from your figure. He gently ushers you up the set of stairs, careful to avoid looking at your lovely blushing face and even more so in avoiding looking at your ass as you climb the stairs a few ahead of him. Upon reaching the second floor he's teased by Oscar, his avoidant gaze noticed almost immediately.

The hallway is long and narrow, extending quite a bit on either side, illuminated by a disorienting yellow hue. There are a few doors you notice, all of which are closed and presumably locked. Your fingers wrap around the ornate knob of one and rattle it. Nothing, just as you'd suspected. You didn't know what to expect and besides the stairs there's no other escape route if things go _really_ south, other than leaping out the window of course. Leaning your forehead against the glass of one to peer down at the ground below, you're not fond of that idea, and doubt they would be either.

You turn to Axel, the question of the plan forming on your tongue. Your head snaps to the opposite end of the hall at a noise, attention focused on the space before dear Otto, as the boy from earlier seemingly blinks into existence in a flash of blue light. Before the gasp can escape your lungs Axel swoops in, clapping a hand over your mouth, head craned over your shoulder leering at the boy as Otto grabs him by the lapels and slams him into the adjacent wall with bone-rattling force.

"Leave it to us." he says, once again far too close to your ear to be a coincidence. His well-trained cadence hides the true meaning of his words- words he can't bring himself to say aloud; " _Please stay safe_."

He releases you and gently pushes you aside, stepping partially in front of you to shield you again. This time is different. There's no electricity or simmering heat, only sweat beading on your brow as you watch the boy try and miserably fail to snap Otto's neck. He grunts, tossing the boy off. The boy, more a young man, keeps passing in-and-out of the corporeal plane, popping up in unexpected places to catch the towering Swede off guard. The tactic seems wholly unfair if you give more than a passing thought to it, but you're far too engrossed to argue with the enemy right now.

There comes a shout from the stairs, and the pounding of feet as a man jumps the top step, attention immediately drawn to the brawl at the end of the hallway to his right. This must be the scruffy man Otto had mentioned. He softly calls out the the boy, apprehension clear in the waver of his voice. Oscar, ever so stealthy, lunges from behind the man, sweeping his arms over his head and strangling him with what, from your perspective, looks like a belt. He pulls the strap taut around the large man's throat, pulling him backward for better purchase. Then it's Axel's turn to part from your side, leaving you with a cautionary glance as he secures his long fingers in a gleaming set of brass knuckles. You press yourself against the wall, hoping beyond hope to disappear back into the comfort of home with them safe and sound and the abundant cats-

The thought catches you off guard, and you're almost fully distracted from the fighting by it. You barely register Axel being ungracefully kicked to the carpeted floor as your mind races a mile a minute trying to excuse the fact you just called their "home" _your_ _home_.

"Shit!" Your mouth works faster than your brain as you watch a dagger fly from the man's hand directly at Axel. By some miracle it misses, lodging in the tall mission secretary piece stood against the wall. This doesn't stop you from peeling yourself from the wall and striding forward, scared and determined to be there for support lest they need it. Axel looks incredulously over his shoulder at the dagger from where he kneels on the floor, flexing his hand against the brass knuckles. Turning back his eyes lock on you, now towering over him, hoisting him to his feet, brushing him off, giving him an encouraging smile. It's faint, but you catch a twinkle in his deep blue eyes as his stares down at you, hair a mess and breaths strong. Oscar's grunt as he's slammed back into the wall has Axel swiftly returning to his brother's aid, ramming his armored fist into the thrashing man's stomach over and over.

The sight of him is strangely attractive, though you curse yourself for even thinking it, watching with twisted fascination as he continues to pummel the man, Oscar still clinging on to the strap around his neck. Following that train of thought you make a move to turn to the other end of the hall, intent on returning your attention to Otto- both to let him know you're there for backup and to admire his surprisingly agile fighting skills. You spin on your heel, breath sucked from your lungs in a surprised gasp when you're faced with a woman. She must have only arrived at the top of the stairs in the moments you had your back turned. She's smaller than you, but her hard glare is intimidating enough to make up for it. She glances between you and either fight happening simultaneously. Time seems suspended as you stand, barely two feet apart, your hands balling into fists. You feel your nails dig into your palms in a way not dissimilar to when they had as you stood in the Commission hallway all those years ago. Funny how things both change and come full circle.

The man croaks out a name, _her_ name you presume.

"Lila... Help... me." You can hear the desperation in his strangled voice as he calls out again. The woman regards him then glances over her shoulder again. You can see the gears at work in her head, making a quick and final decision. The decision she makes has the man roaring her name, only for it to be choked short as he's mercilessly hit in the stomach again.

She lunges for the dagger wedged in the wood of the secretary, shouldering you out of the way to get it. Momentarily startled by her advance you simply stand, dazed and watching as she kicks off her heels and tucks away the stolen dagger, headed for Otto and the boy-

You're brought to your senses as she leaps off the wall, a feat you're actually impressed by. Something about her seems dreadfully familiar, but you just can't place your finger on it. Your shoes hit the carpet with force as you barrel towards her, strides long and fast enough to get to her before she can reach Otto. You pounce, dragging her down from the chandelier where she hangs. She twists, managing to land a hard kick to your gut. You cling onto her waist, bringing her down with you. Otto leaps over the pair of you, impossibly long legs bringing him safely down on your opposite side with space to spare as you roll over, pinning her. She seems surprised as you half-straddle her, one knee to her side the other firmly on her sternum. You stare down at her, scanning her face for any familiarity.

You don't see it coming when she grabs your elevated ankle in a vice grip and twists your leg out from under you, toppling you like a stack of cards. Free from under your pressing weight she spryly leaps to her feet, passively leaping over you to jump on Otto's back. You growl, pushing yourself off the carpet.

Your fingers curl into the satin fabric of her teal dress, tearing her from the tall man's back with enough force to stumble you both backward. Otto seems relieved, but swiftly returns to fighting with the disturbingly skilled boy. The woman swings around, her closed fist knocking you upside the head, knuckles striking the healing gash on your temple. You feel a sting, then a hot stream of fresh blood trickle from your hairline. Distracted by the sudden throb she manages to latch her surprisingly strong hands onto your shoulders, driving a sharp knee into your stomach. The choked gurgle that claws it way from your lungs is less than attractive, and you barely have time to gasp and regain your breath before there comes another blow. She rears up to do it a third time, a confident smirk plastered across her sharp features. Before you let her ram the air from your lungs and turn your organs to mush again you dive forward, crashing the crown of your skull into her sternum. She stumbles backward and rattles out a sickening wheeze as you shake the dizziness from your head. Maybe head butting wasn't smart...

Before you know it she's lunging again, but you swing first, the back of your cuff-clad wrist colliding with her cheekbone. The noise of metal against flesh and bone is sickening, but it deters her, sending her crashing into the wall to your right, blood spouting from the deep wound you dealt. Still uneasy from the knee to your gut you slump into the opposite wall, chest heaving with labored breaths. Through squinted eyes you watch the boy land kick after kick against Otto's chest, backing him further towards the end of the hallway. They pass between you and the woman, and your eyes trail to the window barely three feet behind Otto. You've seen enough action movies to know where this is headed. You push away from the wall, face twisted into a grimace as you reach out to grab the boy's blazer collar. Your fingers barely brush the dark navy fabric as you're dragged backward, a fist curled in your hair, knotted at the roots and pulling far too hard.

With some effort, mostly mental, you spin free, trapping her petite wrist in a strong grip. Her free hand reaches for your throat but falls short as you dodge out of her reach, twisting just in time to witness Otto being launched through the pane of the window. An enraged scream tears itself from your throat as he disappears over the window ledge, landing with an audible _thud._ The noise ripped from your throat has the woman recoiling in surprise, giving you enough space to slip away and run to the broken window. The glass shards poke your fingers and bare shoulders as you lean out, peering down into the unlit yard below. Otto lays unmoving in the grass and pure unadulterated panic boils up within you, twisting your heart and turning your stomach.

You hear a commotion behind you- the shuffling of bodies and the footfalls of multiple people. None of that matters in this very second.

"Otto!" Your voice is barely recognizable as your own, hoarse and shrill as you call down to him. Through the dark you catch his index finger move, tapping the ground in response to your inquiry into his... well, state of living.

Relieved he's at least _sort of_ alive, you turn back to the hallway. The boy and woman are gone, only the brothers and their target remain fighting down the hall. Oscar looks worse-for-wear, a hazed look on his face as he's rammed into the wall yet again, hands beginning to slack on the belt around the man's throat.

"Axel!" you holler, not meaning to distract him enough to get kicked in the shin. He looks over his shoulder at you, wincing face full of concentration and anger and... worry?

You point out the window, wordlessly asking what to do- stay and be of little support or go help his injured brother. He nearly rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness of the proposed question.

"Go!" he yells back, already turned back to the man, striking him across the face.

With that you're flying down the stairs, three steps at a time as you ferociously grip the banister. Your heart races in your ears, the thrum of it strong enough to make your chest quake as you sprint through the mansion. You have to weave through the thinning crowd; A small stampede having formed at the sound of breaking glass and a body falling from the second story. You don't take pride in shoving past guests, but Otto is more important. The three of them are more important than anyone at this party to you.

You swing open the balcony door, scanning the grass for his figure. Your eyes settle on him in the dark, lying on his stomach, cheek pressed into the ground. You slip on the dewy grass trying to scramble to him as fast as your weary legs can carry, settling over him in apprehensive worry. In the short amount of time you've known him this exact situation has somehow happened twice. He groans when you grip his shoulder, eyes closed and face twisted into a grimace. His curled hair lays over his face in stark color contract to the deep red of the blood flowing from a cut on his temple.

"Otto, are you alright? Can you sit up?" you ask, your voice soothing against the harsh pain and squealing of car tires. Another window smashes from up in the hallway and you can only hope and pray it isn't one of the brothers.

You sit by his side for a while longer, assuring him he’s alright and running your hand over his back in soothing circles until he stirs again. A low, throaty groan rumbles from the man's chest as he hoists himself to his elbows, then knees, slouching with his arms wrapped around his abdomen. A fall from that height without so much as a tuck-and-roll could've been fatal you think, looking up at the broken second story window, probably twenty feet off the ground. It's a miracle he's even able to sit up by himself. You look back to him, astonishment etched on your features. The man that sits before you is a _tank_ if ever there's been one.

You scoot forward on your knees, reaching out towards him. He flinches back at your movement, eyes flying wide to stare at your hands so very close to his face. After a moments hesitation he leans forward towards you again, allowing you to tuck the blood-stained curls behind his ears and out of his face. The entire left side of his handsome face is obscured by a layer of fresh and wet blood that sticks to your fingers as you cup his warm cheeks in your hands. He leans into your touch and sighs, deep blue eyes piercing your very soul.

"Are you alright?" you ask again, stroking your thumb over the scar tissue on his cheek. His eyes flutter shut at the feeling and he shrugs slowly in response.

His arms unwind from around his waist and hang limply in his lap. You're so close- the second time today to be so deep in his gravity.

Almost as if on cue he bows his head forward, resting his forehead against yours, slicking it with his blood. Your hands remain on either side of his face, holding him tenderly. He sighs again, blond eyelashes batting as he pensively watches his hands in his lap.

"I'm... I'm sorry about earlier. I made you uncomfortable." you mutter, wincing at your words. You hope you hadn't overstepped your boundaries _too_ badly before. You feel his forehead crease as his brows raise, fresh blood trickling from the strained cut and flowing down over your fingers.

"I'll give you space if you want. I don't know why, I just... I worry about your brothers, about y-"

Your words are muffled by his chapped lips pressing against yours. Your mind pulls a complete euphoric blank. Even through the surprise and fuzziness that swamps your senses you can smell the bitter metallic of blood on his breath. Your cheeks prickle with hot blush and every nerve in your body tingles with intoxicating adrenaline as your eyes shut and dance with stars. His hands move from his lap to latch onto your waist, grounding himself again as he leans further into you. His face is burning hot under your palms, and under any other circumstance you'd assume he's running a fever.

He's gentle and tender, though the squeeze of his hands thinly veils his needy restraint. He can't be comfortable, shoulders pitched at a near ninety degree angle and head craned to meet your soft lips. He pulls away just a fraction, placing another short and breathless kiss on your lips before backing up completely. He sits up, slipping from your hold. His breaths comes out in quick huffs, still close enough to fan your face, eyes fixed on the empty space between you. His large hands slip from your form and settle back against his own. Your heart races, thumping wildly against your ribs and dizzying you as you stare up at him. You're sure you're flushed just as red as the blood smeared on your hand if the burning in your cheeks has anything to say about it.

When his stormy eyes finally meet yours you break into a grin, a full blown smile that hurts your cheeks. Surprise crosses his face and his brows pinch, lips tugging into a confused pout. You simply laugh and spring upward, throwing your arms around his strong neck, burying your face in his voluminous hair. He lets out a noise halfway between a wheeze and a whimper when you lean too much into him, hands flying to your waist again, this time to lift you and alleviate the pressure you put on his aching ribs. Apologies spill from your mouth as you remember his injuries and draw back, hands still lightly resting at the base of his neck. His expression melts into weary content, pleased at the smile seemly glued to your lips as you hang about his neck.

The wail of sirens increasing in volume stirs you from your awestruck daze, forcing you into blinking away the fuzzy feeling. It's instead replaced by a swelling concern for his brothers and the dread of it all. It takes mere moments for the energy surrounding the pair of you to change. One second you're sharing a tender, intimate moment, the next he's returned his jaded assassin persona and you've collapsed into a nervous wreak. You stand too swiftly, cringing as your stomach cramps, a side effect of being kneed _several_ times. You can barely imagine how he must feel as you help him to his feet. His suit is covered in blood and grass and dirt, and glass shards sprinkle from his hair and collar. He hobbles when he tries to walk without assistance, leaning lightly on you as you hurry back to the patio you exited from. You frown deeply as you feel him physically cringing with every step.

_Is this what missions are always like for them?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait, some ~distractions~ came up lmao... hope you enjoyed, this was my all-time favorite chapter to write ;)


	14. Chapter 14

"Otto, go to the livery closet and get our clothes. I'll find your brothers." you say, gently nudging the large man in the direction of the kitchen and storage room hallway. He gives you a pensive stare, lips pursed and forehead creased heavily, the turning gears in his mind deciding whether or not to listen to you.

"Go," you nudge again, a little more forcefully this time, enough to budge his broad form. What you keep private is your worry that he wouldn't even make it halfway up the stars without collapsing. His balance is off-kilter and his eyes look notably more unfocused than his usual impassive gaze. Finally, he blearily nods and splits off in the direction of the livery.

Crossing the empty mansion all alone is strange, your shoes echoing off the polished floors. It isn't completely vacant however, running footsteps and muffled voices dart about in other rooms. Luckily you don't cross paths with any stragglers as you weave your way through rooms back to the staircase. Blue and red lights strobe through the large front windows and you nearly slip on the bottom step in your hurry to scamper up the stairs in an attempt to escape their potential line of sight. You bound up the carpeted steps, crouching on all fours as you slow towards the top, cautious to peek out before bursting into the hallway like an idiot.

"Axel? Oscar?" your voice a gravely whisper as you call out. There comes a throaty groan from your right but nothing else follows it. Apprehensively satisfied that you won't get jumped you surge forward into the hall, head swiveling to survey the damage. It's a complete mess, windows smashed and side-tables overturned. Oscar is slumped against the wall to your left and Axel prone on the rug on your right. You bite down on your knuckle, struggling to deciding who to go to first. Time is running out to make a clean escape and both of them need help. Axel stirs and groans again, which prompts your frazzled mind to decide on its own.

You feel friction burn against your knees as you stumble to Axel's side, shaking his tense shoulders as you kneel over him. His face pinches as you continually plead with him to get up, with him trying to wave you off and muttering in Swedish. You don't understand a word he's saying as he struggles to lift himself into a seated position. Your teeth clench at the sight of his battered face.

He squints back at you, taking in the sight of your own face smeared in blood, though with only one wound visible. Registering the panic etched into your features his attention darts around, to Oscar down the hall, to the lights flashing through the windows. He hisses and clutches his side as he rises to his knees then subsequently his feet. He uses only the wall to stable himself against no matter how much you cling and try to help him. Pain throbs in his abdomen and his aching skull as he shuffles a few steps forward, hand still slipped under the hem of his waistcoat to cradle his wounded body. Your hands remain on his bent arm, assisting him as you'd done his brother, brows furrowed with worry.

You separate from him at the stairs, demanding he stay put to let you retrieve Oscar on your own. Again he mutters in his native tongue, before sighing and shooing you off. As your back turns you miss his eyes flicking over your form, concernedly scanning you in his own silent way.

Kneeling beside Oscar, you find him the least harmed of the three yet again. He's slumped over, and one could mistake him for peacefully slumbering if not for the trail of blood trailing from his nostril. Softly, ever so softly, you take his jaw in your fingers, tilting his head upright from where it lolls on his shoulder. When the simple movement doesn't disturb him you pat his soft cheek, careful to keep your voice low as you repeat his name a few time, trying to coax him awake. This doesn't work either and his head stiffly lolls again when you release his jaw from your grip. You feel your sinuses prickle with tears as panic wells up in your chest. Your fingers find his hand and curl around it, rubbing your thumb over his rough knuckles.

"Axel he isn't waking up-" you croak, turning to look at the grimacing man through watery eyes. Axel sighs and squints at his brother from his spot by the stairs, impatiently crossing his arms over his chest.

"Just smack him." he flatly replies, looking over his shoulder out the window, shifting his weight on his feet. It takes a moment to comprehend his absurd statement.

"What? No! I can't jus-" Your surprised protest cut off by pressure closing around your trembling fingers. Your head whips back around to see Oscar, head leaned against the wall, eyes closed but face radiantly lit by a tired smile. His hand squeezes around yours and he chuckles, the sound bubbling from his chest.

"Now you're holding _my_ hand." he groggily mutters, sounding perfectly content to remain on the floor with your hand in his. His tongue lazily darts out to lick the blood dribbling from his left nostril onto his upper lip. His mouth curls into a smile, revealing those straight teeth stained a deep red.

" _Oscar, stå upp._ " Axel's rough voice comes from the left. With every passing moment that is wasted hanging around the scene the more likely it is the mission will go even further south.

Oscar groans, opening his eyes only to dramatically roll them at his bossy brother's demand. He does as instructed though, and you give him room to clamber to his feet. You hold his elbow and shoulder to steady him when he stands, continuing the theme with each brother. He reaches around to prob at the back of his head, fingers returning with a patch of blood. He shrugs and wipes it on his black pant leg, then allows you to usher him to the stairs. Axel is already striding down to the first floor when you're only just arriving at the top. He takes two steps at a time as he goes, groaning whenever his feet hit the floor, the aggressive footfalls no doubt sending shockwaves of pain through his bruised body.

You hurriedly walk down the staircase arm-in-arm with Oscar, whose head is held high despite having been beaten down so mercilessly. Axel is already disappearing around the corner to the back corridor as your feet hit the bottom step, and Oscar deftly tugs you along to follow him. There's a commotion from the front lobby of the mansion, hard voices shouting muffled phrases into the otherwise empty house. Your grip tightens on the man's arm at the sound and his pace quickens, determination setting on his soft features.

In no time you're out the back door, meeting with a grimacing Axel and half-conscious Otto who holds a bundle of clothes in his arms, then you're taking off through the woods again. The tree trunks are illuminated by the flashing police car lights, casting your fleeing shadows in strobes against the brush. The scenery seems to pass in a blur as do the sounds all around you, bodies crashing through the forest, quiet aggravated coughs of bruised lungs, the shouts of men in the mansion echoing out all the way to the road in which you unceremoniously burst onto.

"The keys! Give me the keys!" you shout, unwinding yourself from Oscar to hold a hand out to Axel. He sluggishly shrugs and motions to the pile of clothes Otto holds. You groan and quickly approach over to him leaned against the truck. Heeding your demands they get in the truck, Axel relinquishing his control over the driver's seat as he climbs in on the passenger's side.

"Why wouldn't you take the keys out of your pocket-" you grumble, pulling the heap of clothes from the man's grasp. You remind yourself how desperately they need to be laundered as you deposit them in the flatbed, feeling the dirt and grime from previous days against your fingers. Oscar watches you through hooded lids as you rummage through the pile for Axel's articles, Otto hovering behind you, obviously anxious to get in and leave.

It takes a bit of rooting around, not quite sure which piece is who's or what pocket you're actually looking for, but finally your fingers find something metal. The bulky keychain is a dead giveaway to the object and you fish it out, leaving the doors open for Otto who wearily climbs in after you depart. Flying to the drivers side, keys firmly in hand, you throw open the door and leap in. Your door frantically slams shut at the same time the back ones gently close and the key is in the ignition in an instant. With the headlights off and the truck in drive you floor it, pulling away from the curb and just about fishtailing away from the scene.

Axel grips the overhead handle on his side, knuckles white as he fists the hem of his waistcoat. His darkened eyes dart wildly between you and the road ahead, visibly anxious at the sight of anyone other than he at the wheel, the vehicle out of his control. Out of all things, you'd never expected to see him nervous. Angry, confused, yes- but never _nervous_. Especially over something as trivial as this.

Your hand shoots from the wheel to grasp at his hand. It's warm and strong and calloused against your palm; A reassuring reminder that he too is human just as you are.

"I know what I'm doing, Axel. Don't worry. I can drive." You give him a warm smile, but make sure to keep your eyes on the dark road for his sake. His hand wriggles in your vice grip and turns upward, curling his long fingers around your smaller hand, returning the fervor of your grip. His lips remain drawn in a deep frown as he stares forward.

You somehow manage to remember the route back, only having to pry for directions a few times. The drive is silent save for pained groans, which seems to be the norm at this point.

_Is every mission like this? Or is this one just particularly grueling?_

You park across the street from the house. Even through the dark you can see a cat rustle the curtains. With eyes closed you take a deep, steadying breath; You've made it home in one piece, mission failure or not. It's only now you realize your had still securely locked together with Axel's.

"Go, I'll bring the things in." you say hesitantly slipping your hand from his, using it to turn off the truck and pocket the keys. Axel readjusts his position and looks over his shoulder at his brothers in the back.

" _Nej_ , we will help." he states before shouldering his door open. You open your mouth to protest, watching him climb down from the passenger seat, and are met with mutters of agreement from the remaining two. You swing your door open and jump down, meeting the stoic man around back and scowling up at him in the dark.

"You're all hurt, I can handle it on my own." you say, holding one of the doors open for Oscar to scoot out.

"As are you." Axel replies, eyes flicking from your temple to your stomach, undoubtedly noticing your involuntary hunch and lingering shortness of breath. Otto bumps his head on the way out and groans, momentarily distracting the pair of you from your argument. Axel stiffly moves to collect the bags from inside once everyone it out. The milk bottles clatter around, still needing to be discarded.

"Not as badly as you." Your teeth clench as you watch him grasp the duffle and drag it to the edge. He lifts it out and gives you a cold, sharp stare.

"Fine, take it."

If it were any brighter out you probably could've determined whether you truly saw the ghost of a smile grace his lips or if it was simply a trick your eyes pulled. Your fingers latch around the thick handle and pry it from his grasp.

Immediately upon taking it, the bag drops like a sack of stones, snapping you downward with immense and unexpected force. You'd severely underestimated the sheer weight of their arsenal and severely overestimated your own sore muscles and payed dearly for it. Your stomach and arms ache from the harsh movement and you remain exhaustedly bent over to still clutch onto the handle. Oscar snorts and steps around you to retrieve the other bags, tossing Otto's to him over your hunched back. He catches it with a spent groan, already making to cross the street.

"Come on, give it here." Axel says lowly, crouching to gently take the handle from your hands. You comply and release it, sighing as you stand upright. You manage to scoop up the pile of clothes instead before Oscar kicks the doors closed, hands preoccupied with the bag cradled against his chest.

You hustle across the street, wanting to get inside before anyone spots the lot of you, covered in blood, limping and bruised. What a shock that would be in the dead of night. You impatiently rock on your heels behind Axel as he mounts the top step, fumbling for the keys in the outside pocket of the duffle. You'd offer to help if your hands weren't piled up to your chin with surprisingly heavy garments. He becomes more and more agitated by the second, eyes darting to you beside him and lips pursing, until finally he retracts his hand grasping the keys in mild triumph.

It's a struggle to keep the cats inside as you file through the door, each making sure to gently nudge any encroaching ones away from the gaping door as you enter. Otto barely makes it into the living room before tossing his pack aside and collapsing onto the couch, face-down and groaning in pain. Oscar gives him a humored questioning look before bee-lining to the kitchen sink where he sticks his face under the faucet and rinses the crusted blood from his nose. Both you and Axel walk to the table, he placing the duffle down and you gathering up the medical supplies that hadn't yet been put away after depositing the clothes beside them.

"Don't make me fight you again.Who's first?" you say exhaustedly, sitting back against the table. Your hand hovers over your abdomen, as if you could will the lingering cramping away. Otto mutters in Swedish from his spot on the couch and Axel grumbles out a reply, roughly taking a seat at the table beside you.

You gape in disbelief. Either you'd miraculously and unknowingly proved yourself not to be a threat or he was in dire pain and wasn't thinking straight. Your mind can't possibly decide which is the more plausible answer. Hesitantly you step to his side, dragging the supplies to his end of the table. At your approach he leans his head back, eyes closed in a light grimace as he somewhat relaxes. His hair is more out of place than you've ever seen it, though not much, merely a tuft or two sticking up here and there. You fight the overwhelming urge to smooth it back for him and instead bury yourself with soaking a cotton ball with peroxide. You wonder how it would look even more ruffled, completely disheveled and perfectly mussed. Would it look better than when he has it pristinely styled? You stifle a spluttering cough at the pleasing images your wandering mind conjures and go back to fumbling for the proper medical supplies.

" **Would you look at that. He's going soft, Otto.** " Oscar says, grinning as he walks into the living room, towel in hand drying himself off. Otto cracks an eye open to peer at Axel before huffing and shutting it again.

" **Alright _Little Prince_ , you barely got bumped.**" Axel bites out.

Your fingers find his jaw, holding his head still as you dab the antiseptic on the cuts scattered across his forehead and on the bridge of his pointed nose. Not that you would've needed to keep him still, his expression remains flat even as the peroxide sizzles in the fresh cuts. Standing over him, gently cleaning his facial wounds, your attention hones in on his sharp features. This is the first chance you've really gotten to admire him up-close now that you think about it. His usual habit of never relaxing around you is in stark contrast to how he is now, sprawled in a chair and at your mercy. You don't doubt his reflexes and keen senses remain in perfect order despite his ease though.

Your eyes follow your own hand to his face where your fingers still gently hold his jaw, then trail to his mouth, pursed but lower lip pouting in that petulant look of his. Then up to his long and narrow nose- the slight bump on the bridge makes you wonder how many times he's broken it. Though closed you can see his eyes flicking around restlessly- such big moody eyes framed by delicately long and lightly colored lashes. His nostrils flare when you press a fresh cotton ball to his forehead. The blood is mostly gone, nothing a quick splash of water can't fix, so you drop your hands and step aside. He cracks his eyes open and gives you a quick once-over before pulling himself to his feet with a grunt.

You reach towards him, concern etching itself across your face. The rest of him is still injured, that much is obvious.

"Do you want me to-" He shakes his head and waves you off, making room for Oscar to slip in behind him and seat himself, an eagerly mischievous smile stretching his mouth and dimpling his cheeks. Your attention follows Axel as he walks around the table, shrugging off the waistcoat and vest leaving him in only a white button up. It's practically see-through and there are visible purple bruises blossoming on his ribs.

"Axel, are you sure? I'm sure you've had worse but it would only take a minute to check if your ribs are alright," you offer again, eyeing his torso while leaning your hands down on the table. You completely miss Oscar beside you turning bright red at having briefly glanced down the front of your low-cut neckline.

" _Nej_. I'm fine." he mutters, shuffling through the heap of clothes on the table, presumably looking for his own. You exhale deeply through your nose and tuck your hair behind your ears, shaking your head disapprovingly as you go to soak another cotton ball. The image of him red-hot and shirtless from just this morning flashes in your mind's eye and you feel your ears heat. If by any chance he _did_ allow you to inspect his injuries it would be just for that, not to run your hands along his toned stomach and sides. Right?

You stand behind Oscar's chair, tilting his head forward as you dab at the small cut at the back of his head. You suppose it's from getting his knocked against the wall so many times. The blood stains a strawberry patch in his pale hair and you're reminded of the other day when his whole head had been stained. What had caused _that_ is an answer you dread and don't plan on asking about it any time soon.

" **You missed your perfect chance, brother.** " Oscar says through a grin, head tilted down towards his lap. In the moment you step away to get a clean cotton Axel swoops in behind you and smacks his brother on the head as he passes. Oscar yelps when his hand catches the sensitive cut.

" **Hold your tongue.** " he snarls, receiving only a devious chuckle in reply from Oscar. " **And mind your business.** " he adds on, walking away from the table with his clothes neatly folded over his arm.

"Would you like me to wash those?" you ask over your shoulder, concentrated on smearing a bit of ointment on Oscar's cut. He squirms at the feeling but lets you finish up without any problems. Axel grunts from the hallway, mumbling a final " _...going to bed.._.". You sigh and eye the rest of the clothes.

"You're all set, Oscar." you say softly, patting him on the shoulder.

He twists in his chair to get a better look at you. While his gaze trails up your form it pauses on your middle, amused and curiously inspecting your dress. Your brows furrow and mouth opens to scold and question him when he pipes up first.

"Your dress ripped." His lips curl into a cheshire grin and he averts his eyes, looking up to meet your wide eyes.

He snickers at the surprised expression that paints your face as you look down to inspect your stolen garment. There is indeed a tear up the side seam of the delicate fabric, stretching from your hip almost to the attached belt at the waist, underwear clearly visible through the rip. You choke and feel your body heat with embarrassment in an instant as you fiddle with the edges in a pathetic attempt to pull it back together. It had undoubtedly happened as you tussled with the woman at the mansion, the fabric simply too tight on your body to put up with the strain of a physical altercation- though how you hadn't noticed until now is beyond you. A part of you wonders if they had noticed earlier and hadn't said anything.

"I- um..." you mutter, hoping your embarrassment is concealed by the blood still smeared across your face.

"Don't worry, I won't stare too much." Oscar says, bright eyes twinkling.

Humor pinches his soft face and you nervously laugh, shifting your weight on your weary feet. He hums out a laugh and stands, staying true to his word and dramatically avoiding looking directly at you. Your awkward chuckle morphs into a real laugh at his antics which only eggs him on more. A groan from the couch interrupts his flamboyant show.

"You can take the other bed, Otto here will sleep on the couch." Oscar says. He crosses his arms over his chest and smugly smirks down at the large man collapsed on the couch. Otto groans again and curls his arms tighter around the throw-pillow under his face.

"No it's alright, I think I'll stay here with him." you state while looking between the two men, "He fell pretty hard, I want to be sure he doesn't have a concussion."

Oscar huffs and rolls his eyes, "He'll be _fine_." he drawls out the last word, though the flick of his eyes and twinge of concern in his brow betrays his cool demeanor.

You pull the chair he had previously been in over beside the couch and seat yourself, reaching out to gently nudge Otto awake. _More awake_ , at least.

"Come on, Otto. Let me clean up your face." you say softly, leaning down to coax him, tucking his hair behind his ear. He groans once more but complies, shuffling to a sitting position, shoulders slumped and eyes drowsy. You make quick work of properly tucking his feathery hair away from his face, revealing the slice across his brow. You grimace and turn to Oscar, motioning for the supplies. He scurries to hand over the things you need, hovering at your side as you organize them in your lap. Otto sighs when you pat his knee reassuringly.

At your motioning to lean forward he does so, passively allowing you to pull up either eyelid just enough to properly view his dark blue eyes in the dim light of the side table lamp. His bleary attention trains on you so close to his face again, hands against his cheeks. You hum satisfactorily and release him, letting him sit back.

"Your eyes look normal, I think, which is good." you mutter, switching to preparing the antiseptic.

"I hope you won't need stitches. I don't think you will, but if you do I don't have the proper needle for it." you say pensively, mostly to yourself. He rumbles and adjusts himself to lean his head back against the couch. "You can go rest, Oscar. We'll be fine." you continue, kindly smiling up at him. He fidgets and scrutinizes you with those icy eyes for a hesitant second, then looks to his brother.

" **Shout if she tries to kill you.** " Oscar finally chuckles out, eyeing you and your bloody face once more before swiftly retreating down the hall to the bedroom with no further fuss.

You take a moment to switch to the couch next to him, transferring all the supplies from your lap to the empty chair, thigh pressing against his as you sit beside him. A breathy sigh huffs draws from his chest as he tilts his head to provide you a better angle at cleaning the wound, leaning his shoulder against yours. He winces when the peroxide touches the cut, and your free hand instinctively moves to cradle his cheek. He presses into your comforting and distracting touch as you continue to wipe away the blood. His large chest expands with deep and steady breaths, concentrating on the feel of your hand against him rather than the sting. If you're this warm and comforting from such a distance, what would you feel like pressed against him? He could nearly burst into flames at the implication of the thought, squirming to clear the brewing curiosity away. Sensing his sudden awkwardness you mercifully break the silence.

"What did he say just then?" you quietly ask, a bemused smile dancing across your face as you study his handsome features.

"Nothing...Don't worry." Otto hums after a moment, a small smile revealing slightly misaligned teeth and sweet dimples. With every moment you work to clean his face he inches closer, fitting himself like a puzzle piece against your side.

"Do you... wanna talk about what happened? Between us, I mean," you boldly ask after a beat, gaze trailing from the cut to his diligently opened eyes. You keep your voice low as if you'd scare him away if you did anything different. Worry flashes in his eyes and he recoils just barely.

"No wait, don't be- I didn't mean- It was a good thing, I liked it," you splutter to explain yourself at seeing the mix of confusion and concern cross over his cleaned face as he inspects you. It soon melts into content and he sighs, reaching to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, softly smiling even as his eyes wander over the blood on your own face.

" _Nej._ " he swallows, dropping his eyes, "Go wash up." he says, nudging you and nodding in the direction of the kitchen.

Sighing, you comply, hurriedly standing and making your way over to the sink where Oscar had been just a few minutes before. The tap water is cold against your face and hands, biting your warm skin as you scrub at the blood caked on. You hear the chair scrape the hardwood floor as Otto pushes it away from the couch, audibly reclining with a pained groan. You fumble blindly for the dish towel to dry your face, turning back to the living room. Once thoroughly dried you toss the towel back to its spot, returning to the couch.

"Better?" You stand over him, displaying your fresh and clean face.

Otto smiles again, creasing soft dimples into his cheeks. This is the most you've seen him smile- the most you've seen him _happy_. You sit down beside him, maneuvering around his extended legs. He's barely relaxed, hasn't even taken his hefty boots off. Then again you haven't removed your either, sitting around in a hopelessly ripped dress and muddy shoes. You fidget, making yourself smaller to allow the large man more room. He grunts in response and leans towards you, gently but firmly grabbing ahold of you to pull your form towards his.

You yelp quietly, your back pulled snugly against his wide chest. His lungs strain under sensitive ribs at the new pressure your body leans into him, but his breath soon returns to its steady rhythm, chest rising and falling against your back. Your initial tenseness dissipates when he snakes his heavy arms around your waist and holds you close, pointed nose buried in your hair. You lean into his warmth, sighing. He can't help but chuckle against the crown of your head at the thought of how jealous Oscar would be if he could see you now, willingly cradled in his arms. To think mere days ago he was convinced you'd be terrified to even lay eyes on him... Now both of you lay together comfortably, beaten down and exhausted, but contented nonetheless.

With heavy eyelids you snuggle back against him further, resting your hands on top of his large and weathered ones as he settles more comfortably. You don't want to consider the potential implications or consequences, instead you just think about how much he must need this- about how much _you_ need this. You barely register his lips pressing against your head in a tender kiss before you're out like a light, peacefully falling into the sympathetic warmth of sleep.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend listening to the song "I Saw Her Standing There" by the Beatles before reading (for textual context)... y'all get to see me geek out over 60s music ;)

Axel is floored when he steps into the living room. The last thing he had expected to see when entering the room is his otherwise shy brother dead-asleep with you wrapped around him. He can't deny the swell of longing that boils up in his chest upon looking at you, a pleasantly serene smile on your face as you snuggle your cheek closer against Otto's chest. Stormy eyes trailing up to his brother's sleeping face, any envy that may have been simmering burns away. It's been far, _far_ too long since he's seen a restful expression on his brother's face- _tranquil_ even. Sighing, he goes about preparing breakfast, still stiff and sore from the ass-kicking he'd received at the hands of that bearded ruffian.

Otto is the next to wake, though he stays still as a statue as to not wake you, even shallowing his breathing for you. He whispers his good mornings to Axel at the stovetop, earning a quizzical glance and returned greeting. You had managed to wriggle around during the night without waking him, and now you lay with your front against his, arms tightly wound around his waist and head almost rested in the crook of his neck. He suppresses the shiver of excitement that rushes his veins, hands on your back firm in holding you closer. You stir, but not enough to wake, breathing out a sigh with your cheek pressed into the fabric of his stained waistcoat.

All is quiet for a good while until Oscar wakes, groggily stumbling out of the bedroom. His reaction to the scene is much less internalized than the eldest's. He stands at the entrance of the living room, jaw slacked and brow creased as he flounders.

" **Why do you get to sleep with her?** " he asks through a toothy grimace, not taking his eyes off you as he stalks to the table where all the bloody cotton balls and medical supplies and clothes still sit. Otto can't help but let out a surprised and embarrassed cough.

" **Not... _sleeping_ with her! Just resting... together.**" he splutters, flushing beet red as he bristles at the innuendo. Granted it wasn't like he hadn't already thought about-

" **Axel, do you believe this?** " Oscar interrupts _that_ train of thought, twisting around to plead for support. Axel scrapes the skillet he's cooking with and shrugs.

" **I just can't believe you slept in that dirty suit all night.** " Axel says lowly, keeping himself distant from the conversation.

" **What, don't tell me you kissed her too? Not with that ugly mug I hope.** " Oscar jokes, smug laughter bubbling from his chest. His amused smiles falls when he catches the flushed and sheepish look on Otto's face. " **You didn't. You didn't!** " he cries in astonishment at the realization.

Otto's light brows draw together and he shushes him, motioning for him to lower his voice as to not wake you.

" **You _kissed_ her?**" Oscar cries again.

Otto cringes, waiting for the inevitable jealous or snide remark to spout from his brother's lips. Perhaps even a threat. One could never expect the ordinary from the youngest triplet. What comes out instead surprises both he and Axel.

" **And you didn't tell me?** " His eyes sparkle with countless emotions. " **Our brother, our very own recluse brother, got himself a girl.** " he says giddily, back-stepping to slap Axel on the back. He grunts and glances over his shoulder.

" **She's not- I mean, she- She isn't... We haven't-** " Otto stutters, heat rising in his already burning face as he struggles to defend the reputations of both of you. You breathe deeply and adjust yourself, waking from a deeper sleep but still remaining under the shroud. " **She isn't _'my girl'_.**" he says through gritted teeth. It pains him that it's the truth- that he can't lie and say you're his. It would be wholly and completely disrespectful on his part to assume your kiss was anything other than a spur of the moment thing. Then again you _had_ wanted to discuss it, said you liked it, to which he promptly shut you down out of embarrassment...

" **Then you won't mind if I continue my pursuit of her?** " Oscar questions with a devilish smile and animated gesture of his arms. Axel quirks a brow, deep down wondering the same question as he continues cooking, silently listening to the intriguing conversation with no argument or comment from his end. Not an action out of the ordinary for him, notoriously more of a listener than a talker. His brothers know he's listening though, he always is.

" **I- That is _not_ my decision! If she's interested then that's her business!**" Otto hurriedly replies, his climbing volume finally enough to wake you.

You sniffle and open your drowsy eyes, taking a moment to blink away the haze of sleep. Your cheek is pressed into the seam of Otto's waistcoat lapel, surely hard enough to leave a line when you rouse. One of your arms unwinds from around his sturdy waist to rub the tiredness from your eyes. If there's one thing you remember, it's having fallen asleep with your back against him, not cradled snugly against his chest and between his legs-

You snap to attention and sit up, face already heating with fresh embarrassment. Perched on your knees he maneuvers himself around you to sit up properly and give you space, fiddling his hands nervously.

"Good- Good morning." you croak, clearing the morning rasp from your throat. Otto too clears his throat, though more out of mortification.

"Morning _solsken._ " Oscar chirps, sending a sly smile in Otto's direction before seating himself at the table, shuffling the medical supplies to the side to make room.

"Good morning." Otto says softly, avoiding your gaze. You tilt your head to better peer behind his curtain of curling hair, letting the tips of your fingers brush over the peaks of his rough knuckles as you stand.

Wiggling to adjust the hem of your dress you make your way over to the kitchen, ruffling Oscar's hair as you pass behind his seated form. You stop beside Axel, following your nose to inspect the meal he's cooking up. Fish, again.

"Good morning, Axel." you say softly, low enough for only him to hear, placing a hand flat against his shoulder blade as you lean over to peer at the skillet. He tenses under your palm, every muscle in his body rigid and on-guard at the feel of unexpected physical contact. Sensing his discomfort you hesitantly pull away and turn your attention to toasting a few slices of bread. Where the hell he keeps finding fish to fry you have no idea, but the sight of the bread and butter on the counter has your stomach growling.

"How does everyone feel this morning? Better I hope." you ask over your shoulder, placing two slices in the chrome toaster. When no one answers right away you answer yourself.

"Personally I feel like I got hit by a truck. I can't imagine doing that for a living." you muse, plucking the hot toast out of the toaster with quick movements and rapid cooling breaths that do nothing but make a scene. Oscar snorts from behind you and you question the reaction.

"But you wanted to be a field agent, right?" he chuckles, resting his chin on his knuckles as his sharp eyes rake over your form.

"I did, but now that I'm fired it can never happen. Not sure if I was made for it either way." you say, bitterness lacing your calm voice as you shrug dismissively. Oscar seems to ruffle at the response and jumps to defend you.

" _Inte gjörd för det?_ You fought like a true shield-maiden." he beams, leaning toward you as you slide him a plate with toast and a fried fish Axel had so generously dished out. Of course you miss the meaning of his first statement, but graciously take the compliment of being compared to a Viking warrior woman.

"You haven't answered _my_ question." you divert, sliding a plate to Otto as he takes his own seat beside his brother.

"Sore," Oscar replies, stretching his arms over his head, "Nothing the sauna can't fix." he adds, grinning as he twists in his chair to loosen up. Otto scoffs at the statement and pulls the plate closer, taking the liberty to start wolfing down his breakfast.

"Sauna?" You raise a quizzically amused eyebrow, retrieving the last two plates from Axel as he begins to clean up.

"Sauna, _ja_. It helps loosen up. We could take you if you'd like." Oscar answers, leaning forward once again as you sit down beside him. The table seems more cramped now with a pile of clothes and medical supplies and bags stacked at the end. You miss the glare Axel send him from behind you as he makes his way over to his place.

" **Even if we could find one we're still on the job. Not a holiday.** " Axel grits, pulling his chair closer to the table as he settles next to you. Oscar tuts.

" **Oh but wouldn't it be exciting to bring her along? Purest intentions, I swear.** " he clasps his hands together over his chest and pouts and Otto nearly chokes on a fishbone.

You clear your throat after an awkward bout of silence falls over the table.

"Has anyone been upstairs yet?" you inquire, leaning back in your chair to glance at the staircase nestled against the far wall over the hallway. When there's a silent but resounding no, you huff.

"Aren't you supposed to clear the place before moving in?" you probe, distracting yourself with a bite of toast.

"We're alive, aren't we?" Axel purses his lips, leaning his elbows against the table. You shrug and continue to eat, not really putting too much thought into it anymore.

So after finishing breakfast and quickly showering away the remaining blood and soreness of the fight, that's how you spend your morning- snooping around the upper level of the house. Up there you find another bedroom, another albeit smaller bathroom, and a door to the attic. The bathroom doesn't interest you, though the color scheme is much easier on the eyes than the other one, and neither does the attic. The attic door seems to be locked anyway.

Instead you meander into the bedroom, a young woman's by the looks of it. It looks as though it's been vacant for months at the very least, a layer of dust covering every surface. There is art and a college pennant and posters on the wall; Posters of The Beatles, still young and preppy having released the first album back in March, Elvis Presley, Patsy Cline, who had recently passed, Peter Paul and Mary, and an assortment of others. A stack of records line the bookshelf, along with classic novels, and thumbing through them, you find you recognize a bit of the music the girl had amassed. Most of it is from the 50s and not quite the style you’re looking for, but you appreciate it regardless. You can't help but laugh aloud at a lone Johnny Cash vinyl, sticking out like a sore thumb against the rest of the unrelated genres, probably a gift from a relative. A part of you aches to hear your own preferred music again, the sweet sweet melody of songs that won't be written for decades. One of the many rudely discovered downsides to time travel.

You pull out the _Please Please Me_ Beatles album, their first and newest, spinning the vinyl between your forefingers as you walk to the compact record player across the room. Lifting the dust cover and carefully placing it down on the platter, you tenderly pull the arm over and place the pin down at the edge of the disc. Pressing the power button, the speaker nestled in the shelf below crackles to life, humming alive with the tell-tale static pause before the music begins.

" _One, two, three, four!_ " The speaker roars to life and you jump into a spin, thrilled to hear real music for the first time in days. It drowns out the sound of a vacuum hum from the living room downstairs and what sounds like scratching on the roof.

As the peppy song continues you dance and shimmy, clapping along and mouthing the lyrics as you go about inspecting the rest of the warmly colored room. There's jewelry on the vanity, personal knickknacks scattered around the room, pillows and stuffed animals. You flit to the closet, throwing open to sliding door to the music's beat. Vibrant colored dresses and skirts and blouses are hung up, some more recent 60s styles and others dating back to the late 50s. Most of them look store-bought, but you recognize a few of the styles sold as patterns as you pull a few out to admire. To your eager surprise the clothing is in your size. You excitedly pull out a pink circle dress, one of the older 50s style ones.

“ _And I held her hand in mine!_ ” Paul hits the high note and you spin with the beat, holding the bodice against yourself as the skirt flares out.

Your laugh is caught in your throat when the room stops spinning and you look to the door, finding Axel watching you. You'll forever be surprised at how quietly such a large man can move. He leans against the doorframe with arms crossed and brow raised quizzically. You flush and rest the dress over the bed, awkwardly chuckling under the stare of his cobalt eyes.

“ _Now I’ll never dance with another, since I saw her standing there._ ” John and Paul sing together, finishing the line with a jovial howl that makes the man at the door bristle.

"Didn't know this was here." he muses over the loud music, eyes wandering around the bright room, trailing from the bed to the pulsing speaker.

“You never bothered to check.” You chuckle in response.

Your own eyes linger on a small square card between his first two fingers, partially hidden behind his folded arm.

“ _We danced through the night, and we held each other tight, and before too long I fell in love with her._ ” Axel’s eyes flit between the spinning vinyl and your distracted face.

You step towards him, plucking the card from between his fingers. He jumps and immediately stiffness, hardening stare boring into your skull as he falls into a defensive position. The little square you hold is an old cabinet card, an aged black and white sepia photograph with a folded corner. A smile curls your lips in recognition of three of the four faces, the men you've taken up residence with and an older woman, all dressed in a fashion half a century since passed. Axel reaches out to snatch it back but you step out of his arms reach, holding it closer to get a better look at them.

“ _The world is treating me bad... Misery!_ ” You hadn’t even noticed the music fade out and jump to the next song. Your smile tugs wider as you look between Axel and the card.

If this didn't confirm that their original era was far distant, as you had expected, then nothing would. You look up to meet his frenzied gaze, brows drawn and large eyes wide, lines creased in his weathered face. Your own expression is soft as you return it to his expectant and extended hand. Relief rolls off him in palpable waves.

"You should've kept the pageboy cap. It's a good look." you tease, stepping away to lower the volume on the record player. With your back turned you miss the red blush creep up his neck and splotch his cheeks as he huffs indignantly.

"Get ready to go. New mission." he chokes out, tucking the photo card away and turning on his heel to hurriedly exit the room. Put distance between himself and you as much as it pains him to do so. You groan and roll your neck, turning your eyes back to the dress.

When you hop down the last few steps, reminiscent of how you would in the bakery, the brothers are already packed and ready to go. Oscar is visibly anxious to leave, but openly looks you up and down upon your arrival, taking in your pink-clad figure. They themselves are redressed in their normal, albeit still unwashed, attire.

"There's another bedroom upstairs... With clothes." you sheepishly supply when Oscar's gaze lingers on your newfound dress.

"Looks nice." he sends you a toothy smile, gesturing grandly for you to follow after Axel as he passes between the two of you through the front door. You step out after him with Oscar and Otto in tow, the November chill refreshing you.

What isn't refreshing is the ride- nearly an hour of being cramped in the flatbed of the milk truck as it winds further and further into the forested depths of rural Texas. Through the windshield you watch the buildings disappear, steadily replaced by dense tree cover. The green-blue atmosphere of the pines reminds you of the men in the truck with you, their cool-palette woodsy aesthetic blending perfectly. You'd stand out like a sore thumb in comparison.

Oscar sits across from you, sitting with his legs crossed mirroring you, his bent knees pressed against yours. He plays the the knee-length hem of your dress, laid out and covering your legs, while he too watches out the windshield. He absently curls the pink cotton around his nimble fingers, occasionally sparing glances at your relaxed face. He would give anything to lay against you, enveloped by your warmth and your fresh smell as you'd wrap your arms around him just as you had done with his brother. Jealousy isn't a word he would use to describe his feeling for you. Throughout his life he's been jealous of many things, but not over you or your other potential relationships. Rather it is a longing to be noticed and appreciated by you, having overpowered every bit of what little common sense he's ever had since the moment he first set eyes on you back in the cafeteria. He had seen you first way back then in the cafeteria, and every time you even spare him a passing glance his heart is filled, reigniting the fiery crush he'd developed upon first sight. Maybe there _is_ a bit of jealously in there... A sigh slips past his lips as he watches you tilt your head and unconsciously expose the column of your delicate neck to him.

The truck lurches to a stop on shoulder as Axel distractedly looks between the road, the mission directives, and an old compass perched on the dash. His pensive stare creases his brow, checking the coordinates one more time before pushing open the creaking door to step out. Otto climbs out on his side too, leaving yourself and Oscar to tumble out the back last. You nearly trip head over heels when your foot gets snagged on the duffle bag's handle as you shuffle out behind the youngest brother.

With your bearings recollected, your shoes scuff against the decrepit pavement. A chill snakes through your bones and you wrap your arms around your goose-bumped self. The elevated altitude, heavy tree cover, and dense clouds overhead make for a real autumn temperature, making you regret not hunting around for a cardigan or jacket in the bedroom closet. It's not cold enough to see your breath but you still shiver incessantly.

You take a step away from the truck to allow them to retrieve the guns with room, taking the brief moment to admire the view of the grand pines lining the road. The towering trees line either side of the road like walls of a deep rich green, fallen needles coating the forest floor and pavement with bright brown. There's an empty patch down the center of the right lane where the wind from the truck had blown all the needles away as it drove.

There's a shuffling behind you for a few moments, getting closer, then a sudden weight settles on your shoulders. A heavy warmth surrounds you and your eyes dart to the deep blue coat draped over your form. Turning in astonishment, you watch Axel's hastily retreating form, nonchalant and collected as he returns to checking the clip in his gun. Oscar and Otto exchange sly glances behind his back as you slip your arms through the sleeves of Axel's coat. Your eyes remain on the back of his platinum head, he himself dressed only in his shirt and vest, no coat to keep him warm. The coat still retains his body heat even as it settles on your body.

There aren't any words in the dictionary descriptive enough to express the elation that floods your system as you wrap the coat tighter around your torso. The hem brushes against your bare calves and the high collar could cover half your face if you closed it. It smells just like him- that mix of earth and spice and aftershave that never fails to tempt you closer and closer to the stoic man. You can't tell if the warmth that consumes your insides is because of the temperature change or the fleeting thought that he would sacrifice his own comfort for yours.

The forest is peaceful as you make your way through, following hot on the heels of the silent assassins. It's a vastly different scene from the forest outside the mansion- here you remain serious and all set apart from each other. The pine needles cushion the sound of your footfalls, so there's no need to worry about blowing their cover this time. Though _why exactly_ you're in the middle of the hinterlands you have no idea. From the look Axel had given the coordinates on the paper, neither does he.

Silence reigns for a majority of the trek. Otto and Oscar flank you an arms width away on either side, while Axel fans out into the near distance, no more than an outdoor-voice’s-call away. Gripping heavy weaponry and trudging through the woods, you catch them distracted, looking up into the canopy whenever they can. Finally you comment, speaking quietly to maintain the stealthy atmosphere they've created.

“It’s beautiful here.” Your musing gaze following Oscar’s to the treetops overhead. He hums in response, white teeth peeking through his agreeing smile.

“Looks like home.” Otto responds from a few paces behind you, thoughtful dark eyes turned upward.

“Home as in Sweden?” You crane your neck to curiously look at him, the high collar of Axel’s coat brushing against your chilled cheek as you turn your head. He nods, a faint smile curling his chapped lips.

“There was a forest, like this... By our house.” Oscar clarifies, drifting closer to your side as he walks. His hands flex against the stock and barrel of his rifle.

“If it’s anything like this, I would love to visit someday.” you say quietly, breaking into a wide smile with eyes fixed on the magnificent canopy.

“ _Och du skall._ ” Otto dreamily murmurs from behind you. Oscar smirks and hums in what sounds to you like agreement.

Oscar turns his attention away and walks a few paces ahead of you, returning to silently observing the surroundings with sharpened focus. With the joy of the conversational moment quickly fading you can't ignore the prickle of strange electricity in the air, bristling the hair on your neck and on your arms beneath the long sleeves of Axel's coat. It's a feeling that riles the anxiety in the pit of your stomach. You wonder if they feel it too.

Your eyes flick between the back of Oscar's ruffled head to Axel, slowly but surely making his way closer to the three of you with long purposeful strides. The warmth of Otto's presence behind you does little to calm the welling worry.

_They must sense something is off, right?_

Oscar stops short, extending his neck to get a better look at something you can't quite see from your vantage point. Stepping towards him and peering over his shoulder, something glints in the light, sticking out of the nearest tree trunk at about chest-height. On instinct your hand raises to grip the back of his scrappy canvas jacket, fingers curling into the thick fabric in a gesture meant to bring comfort to yourself. Your knuckles border on turning white as your grip tightens when he inches forward. Your eyes drag down to his boots, zeroing in on a thin thread shimmering in the light, stretching out just in front of his ankle, about to make contact.

A metallic clicking pierces the silence when he takes a full step forward, and on instinct your hand gripping his thick jacket yanks backwards. You barely have time to react to seeing him trigger the tripwire, only enough to roughly pull the larger man backwards as you trip over your own feet in retreat. Infinite seconds pass after the odd noise yet everything also happens instantaneously, the feeling of your own tractionless shoes slipping out from underneath you as Oscar's back hits your chest, a grunt drawn from his lips.

An explosion rips through the the crisp air, no more than a few feet from your tumbling forms. The shockwave hurtles you backward, Oscar's body colliding with yours as your own hits the hard, frozen ground. The heat of the plume fizzles in the air, disappearing into a pillar of smoke and ash that climbs into the white sky. Your head spins, the mix of burning hot smoke and sudden pressure from Oscar's surprisingly heavy form pulling ragged breath after breath from your burning lungs. The ache in the muscles of your abdomen from yesterday returns and your shaking hands grasp for purchase on Oscar's limp arms.

Everything is peaceful for a moment. Oscar's weight on top of you is oppressive, but a comfort that he's still in one piece. Your dazed and unfocused eyes turn up to the canopy again, wearily staring at the grey sky, the branches spinning as pain blossoms at the back of your head where you'd knocked it against the forest floor. Your mind wanders to the thought that the trees look different from this perspective. Your blurred vision of the treetops is obscured by Otto's shadowed figure as he leans over you, then a moment later Axel joining him. You can tell they're speaking, but hear nothing coming out of their mouths. The ringing silence that pulses in your ears drowns out any words they may be speaking to you. You can't even hear yourself groan as Axel hoists his brother's unconscious body off of yours, just feel the vibration of it in your smoke choked throat. Turning your aching head you find small flames in the surround vicinity taken to the fallen leaf litter like kindling. It would be a pretty sight if they weren't so close to your body.

The ground disappears from beneath you and you groan again, the feeling of arms wrapped around your back and under the the bend of your knees. You're held close, tucked against Otto's chest as he hoists you up, the butt of his tommy gun pressed into your ribs as he hold you and it simultaneously. You try blinking the dizziness away as you look to Axel, Oscar's arm slung over his shoulder as he holds him upright. This close to your ear you can faintly hear Otto's muffled speaking, feel his chest rumbling beneath your hands grasping his clasped green shirt.

"Osc...Oscar?" you croak, attempting to focus your eyes on the the man. His clothes are visibly scorched but his head bobs, reassuring you he isn't dead. Only slightly. Almost but not quite. Maybe.

Otto and Axel go back and forth in a brief conversation as your hearing slowly starts to return. Your head remains ringing and fuzzy even as you begin to reagin your bearings. The brothers must have decided the best option would be to return during their unintelligible interaction, as Axel begins the arduous process of dragging Oscar and both their guns back in the direction of the road. Otto follows hot on his heels, keeping you cradled against his warm chest. You squirm, face heating, muttering lowly that you can walk by yourself, knowing fully you probably can't. You don't really want him to but you down either, but you'd rather be independent and unsteady on your feet than a burden on him. He doesn't capitulate and a smile even graces his otherwise morose expression when you relinquish in your stubbornness, allowing him to gently carry your weary self the entire way back through the forest.

Your eyes focus on Oscar, covered in leaf litter and scorch marks, watching as he begins to regain consciousness in his brother's supportive grasp. His boots drag clumsily and he nearly trips several times, no doubt even more disoriented than yourself. He had been right up against the blast- It's a miracle he wasn't blown into oblivion.

Your head spins when Otto gently sets you on your feet, the thought of what could have happened sending waves of anxiety flushing through your veins. Your shoes scuff on pavement, and you find you're already back at the road, planted securely beside the back doors of the truck. The man's hand remains on you, on the small of your back, even as he multitasks to open the back doors and toss his gun in. Axel drags Oscar into the flatbed and you climb in beside him with Otto's assistance after Axel vacates to the drivers seat, and the doors close behind you.

Oscar groans when you sidle down beside him, his hands held over his torso. A small trail of blood trickles from either of his ears, prompting you to probe your own. You find a small bit of blood on your own fingers as well and sigh, still deafened by the tinnitus in your head.

Guiding him gently, you maneuver him so that his head and shoulders rest in your lap, laid across your outstretched legs. His bleary eyes open enough to search for yours, finally meeting them as you lean down to get a better look at him. You give him a reassuring smile, threading your fingers through his silken hair. He melts at your touch, the heaviness in his brow and deep frown all but dissipating as you continue to tenderly brush through his hair. Your free hand settles on his sturdy chest, and immediately he intertwines his fingers with yours, fitting your hands snugly together.

Oscar watches you through wearily hooded lids as you sway with movement of the truck, following your eyes as you scan him for any serious injury. The toes of his boots look just about destroyed leaving the steel tips with no leather to cover them, holes burned in his raggedy clothes all the way up to his chest, ash clinging to the fabric. His knuckles have light burns on them, probably the part of him that had been closest to the blast as it went off, outstretched and holding his rifle in surprise. Soot is smeared on his face, beaded with sweat and blood trailed down the curve of his jaw.

He inhales deeply and shuts his eyes, readjusting himself to lay more comfortably on your legs. He guides your hand from his chest to his lips, placing sweet kisses across your fingers and the back of your hand. You can't quite hear the words he whispers, you doubt you would've been able to even _if_ your hearing wasn't temporarily lost, but you know he's muttering _something_ against the back of your hand. You bend over, back stretching uncomfortably as you briefly kiss his clammy forehead. Pulling away, you find his electric eyes wide and trained on you, dimples on display as a smile overtakes his features.

That mischievous twinkle, distinctly specific to Oscar alone, sparks in his eyes and his cheeks flush a bright pink. He releases your hand in favor of reaching around and wrapping his strong arms around your waist, turning on his shoulder to bury his face in your stomach as he hugs your middle. Your left hand remains carding through his hair, while the other flies to his elevated shoulder in surprise. His laughter vibrates against your abdomen and shudders through his frame under your soft grip. His arms wind tighter around your waist, pressing himself into you as he breathes in the fresh smell of your morning shower mixed with the lingering smoke of the detonated landmine.

His pleased chuckle fades into a harsh grimace at the realization; Close call, narrow escape, dodging a bullet, no manner of phrasing can sugar-coat the fact that he had just had a near-death experience. You had too he supposes, and in the same moment you'd saved him from his own untimely demise all within barely five seconds. Regret and fear washes over him in flooding waves making him to cling to you harder, mind involuntarily picturing the idea of leaving his brothers behind for whatever follows after death, conjuring all the things he'd yet to to tell them, things he'd yet to tell _you_. He could have foolishly died just then, having not told you how utterly love-struck he'd been since the moment he laid eyes on you. Tears prickle his sinuses as he hides his face further, obscuring the red of his face with Axel's coat and the dirtied pink dress adoring your form.

He's drawn in by your warmth and seeks your comfort- comfort which you aptly and lovingly supply after witnessing his mood shift so suddenly, petting his soft hair and stroking his arm. A whirlwind of silent emotions consumes him as he lays partially curled in your lap, falling apart under the caring attention he'd so desperately craved for what feels like forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for not uploading- I wan't actually planning on uploading this chapter so soon, but considering I've hit a slump due to lack of content being produced over on Tumblr for this small little fandom I just... eh, figured I'd get it out there already. I'm trying to continue working on SG, this is still my baby I promise, it just might take a bit longer for chapters to come out.


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